Horyse
by smbmarsh
Summary: A young Ancelstierran subaltern is posted to the Perimeter garrison as a punishment, where an encounter with a necromancer leaves him imprisoned on the very border between Life and Death. Only baptism at the hands of a great Charter Mage who has the blood of the Abhorsens can save him, but at what price?
1. Chapter 1: Trouble on the Frontier

1\. Trouble on the Frontier

It was a bright spring morning in Covere, capital city of Ancelstierre. A mild breeze blew through the city's streets, and around the imposing buildings which made up the city's central district. One such building was the HQ of the Ancelstierran Army, separated from the Palace by a vast parade ground, and guarded day and night by mounted heavy dragoons in their gleaming ceremonial cuirasses.

Inside the building's maze of corridors was a small anteroom, in which a young man in the uniform of an Ensign of the Arquebusier Guards sat rigidly on a hard wooden chair, staring into space. Opposite him was a polished wooden door, guarded by two gleaming military police corporals, who might have been carved from stone, for they never moved. Not that Ensign Sam Horyse would have noticed if they did; his mind was far away in the deserts of the Eastern Frontier, the day his career had ended, although he had not known that at the time.

There had been nothing about the mission to suggest trouble; at least, no more trouble than usual in that disputed border region where the Frontier tribes were always giving trouble. A full company of the Arquebusiers, with a battery of horse artillery, a troop of light cavalry, and a small unit of Frontier Rangers, under the command of Major Fazackerly, was to retake and regarrison an outpost fort that had fallen to the tribes a year previously. The retaking had been easy; the tribes had not occupied the fort but had simply plundered it, destroyed what they could and left the rest to the wind and the carrion birds. The damage had been mostly superficial and the section of engineers accompanying the expedition had soon cleared the fouled well and begun repairs to the walls and defences. But, in that wide open country, they could not hope to hide their activities from the tribes, and they were not left in peace for long.

The attack had come at dawn, as they always did, when the light from the rising sun shone directly into the eyes of the defending garrison. They repelled that one, and the next, but for every Easterling tribesman cut down by fire from the Ancestierrans, there seemed to be ten more to take his place. The two Lewin machine guns had been the first to fail; the water-cooled barrels needed frequent replacement and by the time the third attack had been fought off, they had used all the spares. Then ammunition had run out for the light field guns. The Guardsmen were disciplined and made sure that every shot from their Martin-Armstrong .303 rifles counted, but as the sun climbed into the hot desert sky, it was obvious that they could not hold out much longer.

Major Fazackerly had been wounded in the third attack and was unconscious from a combination of a head injury and blood loss. Captain Golding had been killed outright leaving Lieutenant Caruso, the senior subaltern, in command. Caruso was an arrogant and ambitious young man, putting in some time on the Frontier before the inevitable staff job. The Frontier was full of types like him, hoping that the odd skirmish with a party of badly armed tribesmen would give him credentials as a 'real' soldier in the race for promotion. Never in his worst nightmares had he expected to fight a full-scale battle against a disciplined and well-organised enemy, and he was clearly out of his depth. At dusk on the day that Fazackerly was wounded, a meeting was convened for all the surviving officers.

"Ammunition returns?" snapped Caruso.

"Good news on that score, sir," replied Horyse, who was the next senior. "Colour Sergeant Crimmins found a cache buried under the old HQ building. About a dozen cases of .303, and best of all, two spare Lewin barrels and a box of belt ammo."

A ragged cheer greeted this news, cut short by a bark of, "Silence!" from Caruso. "Even with this extra, we cannot hope to hold the fort much longer. We are pulling out at midnight."

This announcement was greeted by a horrified silence, which Horyse broke. "Sir, with respect, I must protest. It's two days' journey back to the lines and we'd be exposed on all sides. The countryside must be crawling with tribesmen. Besides, we know that Major Fazackerly got a signal through after the first attack, before the telegraph mast was destroyed. A relief force must be close. And a forced march would kill the seriously wounded."

Caruso glared at him. "Maybe the relief force has been cut off, Mr Horyse. Maybe one was never sent. Perhaps the whole Frontier is in a state of uprising."

The argument raged for nearly an hour, mainly between Horyse and Caruso, with the odd interjection from Lieutenant Halstead of the engineers, who was in favour of making a stand. Things got more and more heated until Caruso banged his fist on the table.

"You are insubordinate, Mr Horyse. You will return to your platoon and make preparations to leave at midnight. That is a direct order."

It was just after 10pm when Colour Sergeant Crimmins, the senior surviving NCO, came to find him.

"Sir, it's Mr Caruso. There's been a bit of an accident." The sergeant's face was unreadable.

"What sort of an accident?" demanded Horyse.

"Don't rightly know, sir. Tripped on some rubble maybe. However it happened, he's out cold. What are your orders, sir?"

Soon after, Horyse faced the surviving officers and senior NCOs. "I'm assuming command," he announced. "Unless you have any objections, sir?" He looked at Halstead, who was technically his senior, but who as an engineer was considered to be outside the chain of command. Halstead shook his head.

"Not me, old man. What's the plan?"

"We stay here. I estimate we can hold off two or maybe even three more attacks. Colour sergeant Crimmins?"

"Sah?"

"You will take personal charge of the Lewins. Pick the best gunners, and set them up on the Eastern wall. Those two barrels won't last long so make them count."

"Yes, SAH!" The colour sergeant snapped out an immaculate salute and doubled away shouting as he went. "Turner, Watkins, on the double. Go and rout out Corporal Taylor and Corporal Sims, and all four of you report to me on the eastern wall. MOVE!"

Horyse turned to the remaining men. "Mr Halstead, do what you can to shore up the defences. Can you rig up some booby traps?"

"Reckon I can," drawled Halstead. "There was some gunpowder in that stash that Crimmins found, and I daresay the artillery have some slow match left."

"Very good. Ensign Leach, you are to give Lieutenant Halstead whatever he wants from your supplies." Leach, the impossibly young and scared-looking boy who commanded what was left of the artillery detachment, nodded. "Cornet Larson?"

"Sir?" Larson, in command of the cavalry, was also impossibly boyish looking. Horyse, who a year's Frontier experience and his lieutenant's exam under his belt, and was only waiting for the paperwork to go through before putting up his second pip, felt like a veteran in comparison. But Larson had proved a brave and capable officer, with the sense to listen to the advice of his troop sergeant.

"Keep yourself in reserve, and all of your men who still have mounts. Those who are unmounted to join the infantry on the walls. If there's still no sign of the relief force tomorrow, you will break out at sunset and attempt to either hook up with the relief force, or fight your way back to the lines and tell Colonel Richards what's happened. The rest of you, return to your platoons. Issue ammunition and make sure bayonets are sharp. Oh, and detail a party of walking wounded to get some fires lit. We've plenty of wood and we might as well make the most of the quiet to get a brew on and a hot meal."

The following morning's attack was just as ferocious as the others, although the carnage caused by Halstead's improvised mines caused a definite, if brief, faltering in the enemy advance. By the end of it, they had used up almost half of the remaining ammunition, although the Lewins were still able to fire, even if not for much longer. They had lost a dozen more killed, including Ensign Leach, and maybe double that number wounded. The worst loss was Colour Sergeant Crimmins, with a lung wound that would almost certainly kill him before the night was over if he could not be evacuated to a base hospital.

As the sun rose towards its zenith, and the carrion birds descended on the dead, a shout came from the lookouts on the western wall.

"Sir, sir, dust on the horizon, sir!"

"Mr Larson!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Take four of your men and investigate. If it's the relief force, report our status and urge them to hurry. If it's the enemy, do not engage but get an estimate of numbers and report back."

The relief force were inside the walls within the hour. Orders were to extricate the beleaguered garrison and the make-up of the relief force reflected this, with a full squadron of light cavalry and two companies of light infantry. There was also a platoon of Frontier Rangers, soldiers who had chosen to spend their careers on the Frontier and who looked and dressed more like Easterling tribesmen than regular soldiers. Light, fast motor ambulances had been provided for the most seriously wounded, and these were dispatched immediately with an escort of cavalry.

Major Robbins, in command of the relief force, had been warm in his congratulations, as had Colonel Richards, Horyse' commanding officer back at Fort Hagan. It had, therefore, been a shock to be summoned by the colonel two days later and told that he was to return to HQ in Covere immediately, to appear before a Board of Inquiry, with a view to possible court martial.

"May I ask the charge, sir?"

Richards looked uncomfortable and shuffled the papers on his desk. "It seems that Lieutenant Caruso has accused you of insubordination and disobeying a direct order. All nonsense and I'm sure it will be sorted out. I'll send a glowing character reference, you can be sure of that."

Horyse wanted badly to believe the colonel's reassurances, but something did not feel right. His misgivings were confirmed on his first night back in Covere. Confined to barracks, he was lying on his bunk trying (and failing) to read a newspaper when there was a knock on his door and Major Fazackerly strode in, head still bandaged. After some small talk, the Major turned to more serious matters.

"I expect you are wondering what's going on?"

"I am, sir."

"Fact is, Caruso has connections. Political connections, and connections in the highest levels of the General Staff."

"I thought that might be the case, sir.

"They need a scapegoat, and Caruso's patrons are going to make damned sure it isn't him. He's claiming he ordered you to evacuate come what may, and that the butcher's bill would have been a lot lighter if you'd obeyed that order."

"What?" Horyse leapt from the bed. Fazackerly held up his hand.

"Settle down, man. That's nonsense and we both know it. Any first-year cadet could see that holding out was the correct option."

"He didn't even give that order. Lieutenant Halstead will confirm that."

"Even if he had, once you assumed command, military law states clearly that you had the right to issue your own orders provided they were legal. So I very much doubt they can make that one stick. The insubordination is a different matter. He claims that you were rude and that you called him an offensive name in front of junior officers."

"I did not, sir. Yes, I argued my case forcefully, but within the bounds of military etiquette. Again, I'm sure Mr Halstead will confirm that."

Horyse' recollections were broken by the two military policemen slamming to attention as the door opened and Lieutenant Andrew Sayre came out.

"Horyse? They are ready for you now." Horyse nodded and stood up. Sayre looked at him, awkwardly.

"Chin up, old man, it may not be as bad as you think."

Once, Horyse might have confided in Sayre. They had been best friends all through school, and then roommates at the Covere Military Academy, where they had got into more than their fair share of the scrapes for which the high-spirited cadets were famous. But, on graduation, they had gone their separate ways. Sayre was rich and well connected, and his ambitions lay in politics. For him, the army was a means to an end. Horyse, alone and with no income other than his army pay, had been determined to make a successful career on merit alone. Now, it seemed that career was in ruins before it had even properly started.

Horyse came to attention and saluted the Board, then removed his cap and sat in the chair indicated.

"Now then, Mr Horyse," said the elderly general who was the chair of the board, "perhaps it would be best if you explain events in your own words."

An hour later, it was all over. General Forbes turned to the rest of the board and cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen, have you any further questions for Mr Horyse?"

"I do," answered a grizzled officer in the uniform of the Frontier Rangers. He had been the only one of the board who had seemed to take the remotest interest in Horyse' testimony, interrupting frequently with sharp, incisive questions that had actually helped rather than hurt the young officer's case. He, at least, seemed more interested in learning lessons from the debacle rather than assigning blame. The general gave a sigh and glanced at the clock; it was getting towards lunchtime and he had expected by now to be comfortably ensconced in the Senior Officers' Mess with a well-earned glass of sherry.

"Colonel Quartermain, please keep it brief."

"Thank you, sir." Quartermain turned to Horyse. "Ensign, your account differs somewhat from those of others who have presented evidence. If there are any witnesses to corroborate your version, it is your right under military law to have them called before this board."

"Yes, sir," answered Horyse, eagerly grasping at the proffered lifeline. "Colour Sergeant Crimmins and Lieutenant Halstead will, I am sure, corroborate my testimony."

"Out of the question," snapped General Forbes. "The SMO informs me that it will be some weeks before Crimmins can leave his bed, let alone appear before his board, and we cannot wait that long."

"Cannot a deposition be taken?" demanded Colonel Quartermain, and for the first time, the general looked at a loss. A staff captain hastily stood up.

"Unfortunately, sir, the nature of his wound means that the colour sergeant is currently unable to speak."

Quartermain gave the captain a sceptical look, then turned back to the general. "Well, surely we can hear from Lieutenant Halstead. I gather he was fortunate enough to come through unscathed. In fact, I cannot think why he was not already on the witness list."

"Captain Matthews?" asked the general. The captain stood again, consulting a sheaf of papers before clearing his throat awkwardly.

"It would seem, sir, that Lieutenant Halstead has been sent on compassionate leave to the Western Archipelago. Apparently he has an aunt there of whom he is very fond, and who is seriously ill."

Horyse stifled a snort of disgust and disbelief. He had been on friendly terms with Halstead, and on the long march to the fort they had talked at length of many things, including family. Halstead's large family was a source of envy to Horyse, who had only one younger sister. As far as Horyse was aware, Halstead's mother and father were alive and well and running a thriving wool business in Staverton, the second city of Ancelstierre. He had a bevy of brothers and sisters, and a matriarchal grandmother who ran the extended family with a benevolent tyranny. Numerous aunts, uncles and cousins in Staverton and the surrounding countryside had been mentioned, but certainly no connection with the remote Western Archipelago.

Colonel Quartermain frowned. "Then, we had better get him back here, Captain. This young man's career and possibly his liberty depend upon it."

The captain cleared his throat once again. "I regret, sir, that will be difficult. I gather there was a small fire in the orderly room yesterday. A clerk was smoking and left his cigarette unattended. He has been placed on a charge, but among the paperwork destroyed was Lieutenant Halstead's leave form with his contact address. We have no way to get in touch with him until he returns, which may be some weeks."

That, really, was that. Horyse was sent back to wait in the chilly anteroom while the board conferred, and a short time later, the military policemen came to attention once again and Sayre beckoned him in to face his fate.

Hory's stood rigidly in front of the board and listened to the president's words. The charge of disobeying a direct order was dismissed; however, it was clear that Horyse' behaviour had been insubordinate and thoroughly unbecoming an Ancelstierran officer, particularly one serving in a distinguished regiment such as the Arquebusier Guards.

"You will receive an official reprimand," concluded the general, "and will be re-posted to somewhere where your attitude will not bring the army or your regiment into disrepute. You will return to your quarters and await further orders."


	2. Chapter 2: A New Posting

2\. A New Posting

Several hours later, Horyse lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling, unable to get rid of a deep sense of gloom and foreboding. Unable to face the Officers' Mess dining room, with its mahogany panelling and poished silverware, Horyse had retreated to his room, feeling more alone than at any other time in his life. It was true that Sayre had stopped by his room earlier, with an invitation to come and dine with him at his family's townhouse, now that he was no longer confined to barracks. But the invitation had been half-hearted, and when Horyse had politely declined, Sayre had not pressed him. Instead, he had prevailed upon the Mess Sergeant to bring him sandwiches in his room. The sympathetic Sergeant had, on his own initiative, brought instead a generous helping of roast beef, and a carafe of wine. Horyse, who had not even realised he was hungry, had been briefly cheered by both the food and the kindness of the gesture. Now, he was alone with his thoughts once again.

It was true that he had avoided a court martial and might yet salvage his career; but the convenient disappearance of Halstead had made him realise just how powerful his enemies were. Certainly, he thought, his days with the Arquebusiers were over. The oldest and most famous infantry regiment in Ancelstierre, they only took young officers with ability, money and connections. Horyse had the first quality but not the other two. However, it was also tradition that every year, the Arquebusiers would offer an Ensign's commission to the top-placed cadet of the graduating class at the Academy. Horyse had been second in his class, but Manders, who had pipped him to the top slot by one mark overall, had already elected to join his father's cavalry regiment. Horyse had been nervous about joining such an elite regiment, but to his surprise, despite his lack of money and connections, he had fitted right in and had done well – that is, up until now. Return to the Arquebusiers was unlikely, he thought, and wondered what his fate would be. Shunted off to a sanitation company, or to the swamps of the south western border where fever killed more men than enemy action. Or, worst of all, the Perimeter.

Once again, his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

"Come in," answered Horyse, and a Mess Corporal entered, immaculate in sharply creased blue trousers with a red stripe, and a starched white jacket.

"Major Fazackerly's compliments, sir, and will you join him for a game of billiards. No need to change into mess kit."

This was an invitation that could not be refused. Besides, it was a long-standing tradition in the Ancelstierran army that if an officer of major's rank or above invited a junior officer to play billiards, the real purpose was to have a conversation that was unofficial and off the record; Fazackerly obviously had something important to say, and Horyse realised that he wanted to hear it.

Major Fazackerly was waiting in the billiard room, which was otherwise empty. The Mess Corporal brought in a tray with decanter, water jug, glasses and ice, then left to stand discretely on guard at the door. Fazackerly was immaculate in mess kit; gold-striped blue trousers and a short red jacket with blue facings and gold trim, the insignia of the Arquebusier Guards gleaming on his lapels. Horyse was suddenly aware that his khaki tunic, which had been immaculately pressed that morning, was now creased and rumpled; and that the shine on his boots and Sam Browne belt had dulled.

"Horyse!" exclaimed the Major, in welcome. He gestured to the tray. "Help yourself, it's best single malt from the Old Distillery in Bainshire. Pour me two fingers, with a splash of water and some ice. Yes, that's perfect."

Horyse whistled. He had a fondness for whisky and the Old Distillery was a legend among connoisseurs. The Old Distillery was north of Ancelstierre's most northern town, Bain, close to the perimeter that separated Ancelstierre from the mysterious Old Kingdom. Rumour had it that the Master Distiller had spent time in the Old Kingdom and gained strange powers there; whether or not that was true, the Old Distillery's whisky was the best in Bainshire, which meant the best in all Ancelstierre, and that was reflected in the price. Old Distillery single malt was far beyond the pocket of a penniless ensign, and Horyse savoured it, briefly forgetting his troubles.

"Let's play." Fazackerly gestured to the green baize table. Both were good players, and for a while there was silence. Concentrating on the game, Horyse found that the thoughts and worries that had been chasing around his head all afternoon finally began to slow, aided by the excellent whisky. By the time the major gestured for them to sit, he felt that he was ready for whatever was coming.

"I'm sure you already know that you've been fitted up," Fazackerly said, without preamble.

"Yes, sir," Horyse answered. "I know that Halstead has no connection with the Western Archipelago. But I thought Colonel Richards would have written." He could not help a note of bitterness entering his voice.

"I'm sure he did," answered Fazackerly. "He was a year above me at the Academy, and a more honourable chap you couldn't hope to meet. I expect his letter was conveniently 'lost'."

Horyse felt a little better. He had served under Major Fazackerly ever since graduating from the academy, and knew that he could trust him. The little knot of betrayal and disappointment in his stomach began to loosen.

"You did have one piece of luck. Two, in fact. The first is that the paperwork for your promotion to Lieutenant went through before all this happened." Smiling, Fazackerly reached into a pocked and pulled out a pair of pips. "You are improperly dressed, young man," he added, with mock severity.

Horyse took the pips and fastened them onto his epaulettes with clumsy fingers. "What was the second piece of luck, sir?"

"The fourth member of the board was meant to be a staff colonel, another shiny-bummed red tab who would have gone along with whatever he was told. But he went down with influenza, and Bob Quartermain was the only officer of suitable rank to fill the vacancy."

That explained much, Horyse thought. He had been surprised that a board that was obviously supposed to rubber-stamp a whitewash had included a man as experienced in the Frontier as Quartermain.

"You've made a friend there, by the way," Fazackerly continued. "Bob was my squad leader when I was a Nugget." Nugget was the slang used in the Academy to refer to first year cadets. "He doesn't suffer fools at all, but if he thinks you are made of the right stuff, he'll fight your corner. He said to tell you that when the dust settles, he'll gladly help find you a post on the Frontier, if that's what you want."

"When the dust settles, sir," said Horyse, thoughtfully. "What happens in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, you are being posted to the Perimeter."

"The Perimeter?" Horyse almost spat out the sip of whisky he had just taken, then choked in his efforts not to waste the precious stuff. The Frontier was known as a place where careers could be made. The Perimeter, the northern border with the Old Kingdom, was equally well known as a place where careers were more often than not irrevocably broken.

"Steady, lad," the Major said. "The Perimeter isn't all it's cracked up to be. I've spent much of my time there. Didn't you know? Actually, I envy you." Fazackerly touched his bandaged forehead, in a spot where Horyse knew there was a scar of some sort. He had always wondered about it; it was too round to be a shrapnel wound or a bullet graze, and a direct hit in that spot would kill a man for sure.

"I was like you," the Major continued. "Graduated first in my class at the Academy, got offered a place in the Arquebusiers and jumped at the chance. Then, as a Lieutenant, I got posted to the Frontier."

"Did you mess up too, sir?" Horyse realised immediately how insolent that must sound. Obviously the whiskey talking. But Fazackerly did not take offence, and waved away his awkward apology.

"It's only recently that the Perimeter has been regarded as a dead-end posting. Not so long ago, it was where young officers were sent to see some action, get a bit of seasoning. Rather like the Frontier is now. Fact is, I took to the Perimeter. Some do. I was persuaded to take the posting on the Frontier to further my career, and have regretted it ever since. Sooner I can get back to the Perimeter, the better." Fazackerly paused to refill their whisky glasses.

"You've a difficult time ahead of you, lad. But if you are made of the right stuff, and I think you are, then this could be a real turning point for you. You'd better get to bed. You are expected at the Crossing Point the day after tomorrow. There's a train leaving for Bain first thing in the morning, and if you are on it, you can fit in a visit to that sister of yours."

"Thank you, sir," Horyse said, genuinely touched. His sister was at Wyverly College in Bainshire, and he saw her only rarely.

"I'm pulling strings to get posted back up there myself," the major said, "so it may be that we will meet again soon. In the meantime, may the Charter… that is, take care of yourself."


	3. Chapter 3: Reunion

3\. Reunion

The following morning, just before eleven o'clock, Horyse stood in front of the wrought iron gates of Wyverly College. The train had made good time, and he had been able to get a lift to Wyverly Village with the post van. He pushed open the gate, strode up the drive and knocked with his swagger stick on the imposing front door. It opened a few moments later to reveal a frowning porter, who broke into a smile of recognition.

"Mr Horyse, sir! Long time, no see. Here to see young Jayelle, no doubt. Shall I inform Miss Fortescue that you are here?"

"Yes please, Mullins," answered Horyse, somehow dredging up the porter's name from a distant memory. A few minutes later he was in a light and airy study, standing in front of a polished desk. Across from him sat Miss Fortescue, the formidable headmistress of Wyverly College.

"Mr Horyse, we were not expecting you," she said with a frown.

"I did not expect to be here myself," answered Horyse. "A last-minute posting." He was unsure how much would have been reported in the newspapers up here in the north, where the Frontier was of little concern.

"Indeed," answered the headmistress. "You are going to the Perimeter?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered cautiously, sure that her opinion of a Perimeter posting would be as disapproving as everyone else's. He was somewhat surprised when her face broke into a warm smile.

"Then perhaps we may see more of you. Jayelle has done so well, but it has been hard for her." She held up a hand to forestall his protest. "I mean no criticism of you, Mr Horyse. You have done all a brother could, and more. But it will do her good to see more of you, and perhaps, if I am not speaking out of turn, it will do you good to see more of her."

Before Horyse could respond to this astonishing statement, Miss Fortescue reached for a tasselled bell-pull. The summons was answered promptly by a young woman of about 18, her school uniform immaculate, wearing a badge that proclaimed her to be a member of the sixth form and a prefect.

"Rityala, present my compliments to Miss Prionte and ask her to send Jayelle to me immediately. Then go to Cook and ask her to prepare a picnic basket for two." The girl bobbed her head and left. Miss Fortescue smiled. "It's a beautiful day and you won't want to waste time and money driving into Bain, and the village pub is so dreary." It was true that the only pub in Wyverly was a gloomy place of dark oak panelling, hunting prints, and less than indifferent food. Horyse' thanks were interrupted as the door burst open and a girl of about 16 flung her arms around him.

"Sammeth!"

At a loud throat clearing from behind the desk, the girl released him, blushed bright red and bobbed her head.

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss Fortescue. But Rityala said that Sam was here."

"Just this once, Jayelle, I will overlook your lack of courtesy. But please remember to ask Miss Prionte for extra instruction in how to enter a room." Horyse thought that he saw the headmistress' mouth twitch in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. "Cook is preparing you a picnic, and tell Mullins that you may take the Blenheim. I assume you can drive, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am, and thank you," stammered Horyse, gratefully.

"Not at all." Now, Miss Fortescue really did smile. "Just make sure you have her back before sundown. And, Jayelle, be sure to catch up on any work you have missed."

A while later, they sat together in the Blenheim 128, which was the smaller of the school's two motorcars.

"Where shall we go?" asked Horyse. "It says on the map that there's a cairn of some sort, and a viewpoint, on top of a hill at a place called Dockey Point. That sounds interesting."

"Oh yes," answered Jayelle enthusiastically. "It's beautiful up there. Salleyne says that on a clear day, you can see all the way to Bain, but I've never believed her. The view is smashing though."

Following the map, they drove up a rough track and parked the car. A smooth, grassy hill with a rounded top lay before them, with a stone cairn at its top. The midday sun was bright, and Jayelle soon removed her woollen school blazer and rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse. But as they climbed, Horyse felt an inexplicable chill coursing through his body, and a sense of unease, growing to nausea, which he fought. He was not going to spoil the day by being unwell.

At the summit of the hill, Jayelle climbed to the top of the cairn, excitedly calling to her brother to come and join her. But as soon as he touched one of the stones, he felt a wave of nausea so intense and uncontrollable that he reeled away and fell to his knees, vomiting uncontrollably. Instantly, Jayelle was by his side, a concerned arm around his shoulders.

"Sam! What is it? Are you ill?"

"I'm not sure," gasped Horyse. "Let's go back to the car."

"Alright, if you think you can walk. Lean on me."

As they descended the hill, the feelings of unease lessened, as did the chills and nausea. By the time they reached the car, Horyse felt quite himself again and rather foolish.

"Do you want to go back to Wyverly, Sam? Matron can check you out and I'm sure Miss Fortescue will send for the doctor if you need."

Horyse shook his head. "No, I'm fine now, Jay. Whatever it was has passed. Maybe something I ate didn't agree with me, but I'm hungry now. Let's go and find somewhere else to picnic. Somewhere away from here."

It was a pleasant afternoon and Horyse soon forgot his mysterious bout of illness at Dockey Point. The weather was warm and sunny, and they found a pleasant lake with a wooded shore by which to picnic. Horyse had always enjoyed his visits to Wyverly and the surrounding countryside, feeling a strange sense of homecoming, which he attributed to the fact that this was where his only living relative was. Time passed swiftly in conversation, for it had been over a year since brother and sister had been together. By tacit agreement, no mention was made of recent events on the Frontier.

"I'm so glad you are going to the Perimeter, Sam," said Jayelle, as they were packing up to return to the college. "Will it mean you can come and visit more often?"

"It should do," answered Horyse. "Northern Perimeter HQ is only thirty miles or so north of Bain, so even on a day pass I'd have time to get here and back. If that dragon of a headmistress will let you out."

"Oh, Miss Fortescue isn't as bad as she makes out," answered Jayelle. "Will you get to visit the Old Kingdom?" she added, wistfully.

"Not properly, I don't think. The Perimeter garrison sends patrols in but I don't think they go more than a mile or two beyond the wall."

"Even so," breathed Jayelle, with a sparkle in her eyes. Horyse laughed.

"I promise you that if I meet a real dragon, or some other Old Kingdom monster, I'll come straight here to tell you all about it."


	4. Chapter 4: Wind from the North

4\. Wind from the North

The following morning, Horyse hitched a lift with a convoy of military lorries that were taking supplies from the railhead at Bain to Perimeter HQ, more commonly referred to as the Crossing Point. Even at the slow speed of the 4.5 ton trucks, he anticipated a journey of no more than two or three hours. So, he was disconcerted when, after scarcely more than an hour and with over twenty miles to go, the engines of first one, then another, then all five trucks sputtered and came to a halt. The sergeant in charge conferred with the other drivers, and Horyse noticed him lick a finger and hold it up to test the wind. Then he came over and saluted.

"I'm sorry, sir, that's as far as we go today. Wind's from the north."

"Aren't you going to look at the engines?" demanded Horyse. "It could be the distributor, or the carburettor or something." Even as he said it, he knew that for all five trucks to fail at the same time and in the same manner was an almost impossible coincidence.

"No point, sir. Like I said, wind's in the north. Hopefully it'll die off or even veer round when the sun sets, and we can get moving again."

"Sunset? But I'm due to report in this afternoon."

"Well, sir, you've got two choices. Wait with us, or start walking." The sergeant's tone was unapologetic.

"What about you?"

"We'll just bivvy up here, sir. We've got rations, and stoves for a brew-up. We always come prepared in case this happens."

"Won't they be expecting you?" Horyse dreaded having to report to his new CO that five trucks had broken down, with no logical explanation as to why.

"No, sir," the sergeant answered, with the weary patience of a senior NCO dealing with an unusually stupid subaltern. "Like I keep saying, wind's in the north."

Horyse gave up, and after arranging with the sergeant to bring the rest of his baggage along, packed some overnight necessities into a backpack. He also took a water bottle and some marching rations, and set out. Horyse was used to long route marches on the Frontier, and on this late September day in northern Ancelstierre, the air was just cool enough to make walking pleasant. A great change from the burning sun and the dry, dust-laden winds of the Frontier. Horyse also realised quickly that he did not need to stint himself for water, since there were plenty of clear, fast-flowing streams, and he made fast progress.

As the sun climbed towards its zenith, he stopped at one of the rare farmhouses and was able to obtain milk, fresh bread and cheese to supplement his iron rations. He paused in the shade of a large oak, took out the small pocket stove that everyone carried on long patrols on the Frontier, and put water on to boil for tea. The provisions from the farm, along with strong, hot, sweet tea, revived him, and he felt no need to broach the bully beef and hard-tack that made up the marching rations. He did, however, extract the bar of chocolate and place it in a pocket for easy access.

The further north he travelled, the more sparse the signs of human habitation became. Farms became increasingly rare; cultivated fields and dairy herds gave way to flocks of sheep or goats grazing on open moorland. Horyse was astonished to find that the sense of coming home that he always felt on visits to Wyverly was becoming stronger as he got closer to the Perimeter. He could not understand why, but it was a pleasant feeling and did much to bolster his morale as the sun began to sink and his feet became more and more blistered on the cobbled road. He cursed himself for not taking the time to change the smart riding boots of his best uniform for the scuffed and comfortable combat boots he had worn on the frontier.

By late afternoon, Horyse saw from a milepost that he was still 8 miles from Perimeter HQ. He cursed as he realised that there was no way he would be there before dark. Continuing after dark would be foolhardy, since it would be easy to stray off the road and onto the open moor. And some instinct was telling him that to be abroad after dark this close to the Perimeter would be a dangerous thing. He needed to find a good place to bivouac, and he had a strong feeling that it must have running water to hand. Again, he could not explain this thought, and rationalised it as being down to the need for plenty of water for a brew-up to get him going in the morning. Horyse also began to suspect he had made a fool of himself. The wind was, indeed, beginning to drop; if the wind truly was the problem (which he still couldn't help doubting) then the trucks would be on the move soon. If they passed him on the road, it was true that he could get a lift the rest of the way, but at the price of enduring the barely concealed smirks of the sergeant. Even worse, if they missed him in the dark, they would arrive at HQ before he did, leaving him with some awkward explaining to do.

Horyse was just beginning to wonder whether the whole thing was some elaborate trick played on the new officer when he heard hoofbeats. Instinctively he sought for cover, but there was none to hand. Then he saw a horse and rider silhouetted on the skyline and, with his field glasses, determined that it was an Ancelstierran sergeant, mounted and leading another horse. The man evidently caught sight of him at the same time, spurring both horses into a canter. In a few minutes, he halted in front of Horyse with a clatter of hooves striking sparks from the cobbles of the road.

"Lieutenant Horyse, sir?" the man said.

"That's me," Horyse agreed.

"Papers please, sir." The sergeant's tone was polite but Horyse sensed that arguing would not be a good idea. From a pocket he produced his military ID card, and the orders posting him to the Perimeter. The sergeant scanned them for a minute, then handed them back, his face breaking into a grin.

"That's all in order, sir. Sorry about that but we can't be too careful up here. I'm Sergeant Curran of the Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Force, or, as most people call us, the Crossing Point Scouts."

"Well, sergeant, I'm glad we bumped into each other. Any chance of borrowing your spare mount?" The sergeant laughed, but it was an open and friendly laugh.

"Bless you sir, that's what I'm here for. We knew you'd get stuck, what with the wind being in the north, and that you'd try to get here on foot. New blokes always do, begging your pardon. The old lags wait with the trucks, they know that up here, a northerly wind is one of the few acceptable reasons for being adrift. Anyway, when you didn't report in, Captain Tindall sent me out to look for you. Now, better hurry, sir, we want to be in before dark."

Horyse mounted and followed after Curran, who set off at a brisk canter which prevented further conversation. He could, however, study Curran's uniform, which was as unorthodox in its way as that worn by the Frontier Rangers. Over his standard issue service-dress tunic, Curran wore a thick leather jerkin with a high, wraparound collar and a steel gorget that protected the throat. He wore the normal forage cap but carried a steel helmet despite being behind the lines. The helmet was unusual too; the famous 'battle bowler' with its familiar bowl shape had been adapted with the addition of a neck guard and, he would later discover, a hinged faceguard that could be flipped into place when needed. Curran carried a sidearm but no rifle, and in place of the standard issue light cavalry sabre, he wore a curved sword with a shorter, but wider and heavier blade – a cutlass. Most unusual of all, slung over one shoulder was a round shield which had originally been khaki but which was now painted with brightly coloured symbols and devices.

The sun was still way above the horizon when they clattered up to the front gate of Perimeter HQ and dismounted. Both men's papers were checked carefully, Horyse noted, even though Curran must be well known to the men on guard. SThen, the corporal in charge of the guard reached up and with the first two fingers of his right hand, touched Curran's forehead; Curran simultaneously returned the gesture. The touch was brief, a mere second or two, then both men nodded.

"That's all in order sir, sarn't, you may pass." A soldier raised the red and white striped barrier and the two men led their mounts inside the gate.


	5. Chapter 5: Welcome to the Perimeter

Welcome to the Perimeter

In the late afternoon light, Northern Perimeter HQ looked to Horys like any other army post. In fact, it appeared to be considerably smarter than the dusty Fort Hagan which was the Frontier HQ. The gate gave directly onto a large parade ground, and facing him across it was an imposing brick building, in front of which was a flagstaff on which the Ancelstierran national flag flapped lazily in the dying breeze. Surrounding the other two sides of the parade ground were the usual motley collection of huts, barrack blocks and blockhouses. Around the edge of the parade ground were set immaculately whitewashed stones, which were being whitewashed again a small group of men in the shapeless overalls issued to defaulters, a bored looking Military Police corporal watching over them. From somewhere on the left, Horys could hear rifle fire and shouted orders and assumed, correctly, that that was where the ranges were located. All in all, at first glance, it looked very normal and like any army post.

Following the friendly Curran's directions, Horys set out across the parade ground towards the brick building which he had correctly identified as the HQ building and officers' mess. He returned the salutes of several groups of soldiers he passed, noting that many wore the same leather jerkins and shields as Curran. Some even seemed to be wearing hauberks of chain mail. Horys shook his head – surely he must be imagining that. But everyone appeared to carry swords and steel helmets, apart from a few obvious HQ types, and he saw one platoon marching in who looked ragged and mud-caked and were obviously coming in from the frontline.

The next morning, Horys stood uncomfortably to attention in front of Colonel McGovern, commanding officer of the Perimeter garrison. The colonel glanced at the papers in front of him.

"So, you are Horys."

"Yes, sir."

"Bad business, down on the Frontier," the colonel commented.

"Yes, sir." Horys kept his tone carefully neutral.

"So, now they've sent you to me, presumably to keep you out of the way until it all blows over." He sighed. "Listen, Mr Horys, we can't carry passengers up here on the Perimeter. Initiative is to be commended but I will not stand for insubordination. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm attaching you to B company under Captain Tindall. Your official title will be company executive officer. Don't make the mistake of thinking that's a promotion, because it isn't. We don't give subalterns command of a platoon until we know whether or not they are any use. Watch and learn, obey orders, and above all, stay out of the way."

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant."

The less than warm welcome was discouraging to Horys, and he felt dispirited as he walked across the parade ground to the hut that had been pointed out to him as the headquarters of B company, currently finishing a rest period in barracks. The orderly room corporal directed him to Captain Tindall's office, and with some apprehension, he knocked on the door and obeyed the summons to come in.

"Lieutenant Horys reporting for duty, sir!" he saluted, smartly. The officer seated behind the untidy desk returned his salute, then stood and came around the desk, holding out a hand for him to shake. Captain Tindall was younger than Horys had expected, with a dark, untidy fringe that gave him a boyish look, and an energetic but forceful manner.

"Welcome to B company, Mr Horys. I'm Frank Tindall and I'm damned glad to see you. We're short of officers. Take your cap off and have a seat, and I'll give you the low-down." Some of Horys' surprise must have shown in his face, because Tindall grinned at him. "The CO give you his usual warm welcome, did he? Don't mind Colonel McGovern. He's burned out, been on the Perimeter far too long for someone who isn't a Charter… That is, who isn't suited to it. He's seen too much. The MO tried to send him back as Not Yet Diagnosed, Nervous, but until his replacement arrives we are all stuck. Major Nugent was pretty much running the show, but he was wounded last week and had to be evacuated back to Bain."

"I see," said Horys. He had heard that the Perimeter produced an unusually high number of NYDN cases, which the soldiers themselves referred to as shell shock. The official explanation was that Perimeter troops were of poorer quality than the wider army, but Horys was beginning to doubt that notion.

"I won't be giving you command of a platoon, though," continued Tindall. "Mainly because that's not really how we do things up here. A platoon is an administrative formation, no more. And I'm not tying up a subaltern in administrative work that one of the clerks can do perfectly well. Operationally we operate flexible formations depending on where we are and what we are doing. Command is assigned based on the size of the force, and what the task is."

Horys nodded. "The Frontier Rangers work in a similar way," he said.

"Quite so. Anyway, I had a letter from Major Fazackerly who seems to think you've the makings of a decent officer. He was my OC when I was posted here out of the Academy, and I trust his judgement. And Sergeant Curran formed a favourable impression of you. Trust me, if he hadn't you'd have known about it." Again, that boyish grin. "We're going into the front line tonight so we'll show you around, get you out on patrol, give you a chance to see the lie of the land. Main job today is to get yourself over to the QM stores. You'll need a cutlass or a light cavalry sabre – a parade ground sword is no use here. Draw a helmet too, we've modified the design to suit some of the, ah, more unusual requirements of the perimeter garrison. What else? Buckler, dagger, and a leather jerkin. Or a mail hauberk if you prefer it. Personally I find the damned things too heavy, and it's a devil of a job to stop them jangling on a raid. Do you have a decent pair of combat boots? Good. Also, indent for any deficiencies in your field kit. I'm assuming as an ex Frontier man, you are used to extended patrols?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Then go to the armoury, draw a revolver and check it out on the ranges. Half the time you'll find the damn thing won't fire, but it's useful when it does."

"What about a rifle, sir? On the Frontier, I always carried one. Most of the officers did."

Tindall shook his head. "Dead weight. Again, you'll find that half the time, it won't fire. Most of the troops regard them as a useful handle to stick a bayonet on and not much more. And don't get me started on the uselessness of Lewins up here."

Horys looked at him in open astonishment, having seen on the Frontier just how devastatingly effective the water-cooled machine guns could be in the right hands. Tindall grimaced. "Of course, I keep forgetting, you're as green as grass. You will find that the closer you get to the Old Kingdom, the less reliable our technology is. When the wind is from the north, the effects can be felt almost as far back as Bain. As you discovered yesterday."

"I thought that the drivers might be playing some sort of hoax on me," admitted Horys. Tindall grinned and shook his head.

"No, it's all too real. Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, the ranges. When you've done that, go to the blacksmith's forge and get a good edge put on your cutlass and dagger. And anything else you might have. Up here, you can't have too many hand-to-hand weapons. I'm guessing you may have learned a trick or two on the Frontier?"

Greatly daring, Horys reached into his tunic pocket, withdrew something and gave a practiced flick of his wrist. A spinning, flat metal object zoomed over Tindall's head, close enough to ruffle his hair, and embedded itself in the plaster behind him. Tindall gave an exclamation of surprise, then pulled the object out to examine it. It was like a four-pointed star, except that each point was a curved, viciously sharp blade.

"What on earth is that?" Tindall demanded.

"Korovian throwing star, sir." Horys said nervously, wondering whether he had gone too far. But Tindall's eyes were sparking with interest as he examined the strange object.

"How accurate is it?"

"If you know how to use it, sir, very accurate up to a range of about 5 metres. And deadly," he added.

"And do you know how to use it?"

"I do, sir." Briefly, he explained how he had once rescued a Sergeant of the Frontier Rangers who had been caught on their own wire, under fire from raiding tribesmen. As a token of his gratitude, the Sergeant, who was a native of the southern Ancelstierran province of Korovia, had taught him to use the throwing stars. Horys always carried several to hand, concealed in various pouches and pockets. He wondered, briefly, where Sergeant Kalil was now, or even if he was still alive.

Tindall nodded, approvingly. "Mind if I hang onto this? I'd like to see whether the blacksmith could knock up a few. Might come in useful, if you could teach some of the men how to use them. Now, any more surprises?"

"Knuckledusters, sir, and a couple of home-made coshes."

"By the Charter, maybe we should get some more Frontier types up here," Tindall exclaimed. Then he rang a bell on his desk. The door opened without a knock and one of the orderly room corporals looked in.

"Corporal Malloy, pass the word for Private Anshye. On the double."

"Yes, sir!"

"Anshye will be your batman. He's a reject from the Arquebusiers as it happens, but I suspect he may make a Perimeter man. Ah, Private Anshye, this is Mr Horys. Latest in a long line of officers whose unfortunate task is to try and keep you out of trouble."

"Yes sir," Anshye said, with a grin. He was a stocky young man, with the dark eyes and brown skin of the Korovians, and the misshapen nose of a habitual brawler. Horys instinctively liked him.

"Anshye will come with you this morning, show you around the base and help you carry all the mountains of stuff you'll be collecting. Anshye, make sure the Lieutenant gets everything he needs, and don't let the QM fob him off with anything second rate." Anshye nodded, solemnly. "Meet me in the officer's mess anteroom at 12 pip emma sharpish," Tindall continued, addressing Horys once more. "We'll have a pre-lunch drink and you can meet some of the others. Might as well enjoy the comforts of civilisation while we can, we go up the line tonight."

"What about this afternoon, sir?"

"Study for the Staff College, if you've any sense," Tindall answered, grinning as he used the age-old army euphemism for an afternoon nap. "You still look all in from yesterday, and you'll get precious little sleep in the front line. But I think you'll cope with that."


	6. Chapter 6: Midnight Attack

7\. Midnight Attack

Horyse followed him out of the dugout, fastening his leather jerkin, pulling on his steel helmet and checking that cutlass and dagger were loose in their scabbards. This was something entirely new to him. On the Frontier, stand-to was at dawn, when the glare of the rising sun was in the eyes of the defending troop. Tindall had told him that midnight was the most common time for an attack on the Perimeter, but had been unable to explain exactly why. He had also said that cloudless nights increased the risk of an attack, which made sense; and that attacks were also more common when a north wind was blowing; which did not. Most baffling of all, Tindall had said that the worst time for an attack was at full moon. This was incomprehensible to Horyse. What kind of numbskull attacked when there was most risk of being seen? And why had Tindall seemed to imply that such attacks were the hardest to fight off?

All along the trench, men stood on the firestep, bayonets fixed. Horyse noticed that many had drawn their cutlasses and leaned them against the trench wall, ready to hand. All was silent, and Horyse was impressed by the discipline of the men. He looked at his watch. One minute to midnight. He watched the second hand tick round, with agonising slowness it seemed, and fought a growing and inexplicable sense of dread.

It was almost a relief when the howl of the alarm klaxon burst the silence, and a flare fired from a Very pistol split the darkness to the west of his position – Ensign Haynes' sector. A moment later, Anshye gave a shout.

"Movement 10 O'clock, sir!"

"Steady, lads," Tindall called. "Wait until they get a bit closer." Horyse could see shadowy figures emerging in the dead ground, and checked his revolver. Then Tindall shouted again, this time the order to open fire. Instead of the volley of rifle fire that Horyse expected, there was a scattering of shots and a volley of curses. Some men were going through misfire drills; but the majority were readying bayonets and cutlasses. Horyse's own revover failed to fire, and he holstered it and drew his cutlass.

"On my whistle, lads," Tindall called. "Stand by, go!" He blew a long blast on his officer's whistle and the men scrambled out of the trenches, swords or bayonets at the ready. "Charge!" called Tindall. "Take it to them, lads!"

The cries were echoed by officers and NCOs all along the line. Horyse thought for a moment that he heard CSM Butler shouting something about showing those 'dead buggers' what cold steel could do. He dismissed this clearly ridiculous statement as either something he had misheard, or a figment of his imagination.

Horyse ran forward, caught up in the momentum of the charge, feeling the familiar surge of adrenaline as he took the fight to the enemy. When he got close enough for a proper look at the enemy, though, he almost faltered in shock. They seemed to be diseased in some way, the worst afflicted with their flesh literally rotting off and bone showing through. The stench was abominable, and reminded him of corpses rotting in the sun of the Frontier, picked at by carrion birds and alive with flies.

"Look out, sir!" A shout from Anshye brought him back to his senses. Whatever this foul disease was, it did not seem to have sapped their ability to fight. Indeed, some seemed to be getting up and returning to the battle even after limbs had been hacked off. A ragged man came at Horyse and he raised his cutlass and struck, felling him to the ground. As he freed the blade he heard Anshye at his shoulder. "Cut his head off, sir!" Horyse hesitated; it went against all rules of decency to strike a fallen enemy. Anshy pushed past, raised his own cutlass and struck downwards. "Trust me, sir, it's the only way to make sure of them."

The rest of the fight was a blur. Horyse had never been involved in anything like it. On the Frontier, a seriously wounded enemy would stay down. Here, unless their skulls were smashed or their heads removed, they kept coming. Horyse even saw one horrific figure with both legs hacked off, clawing his way forward on putrid fingers until Tindall struck his head off.

The fight was exhausting. In battles on the Frontier they could always fall back and regroup, covered by volleys of bullets from the reserves and the Lewins. Here, there was no respite from the waves of enemy until, at last, the sun rose clear of the horizon. This caused the remaining enemy to retreat or fall where they stood. Some sort of photophobia, Horyse thought. He had heard of certain diseases causing such things.

"Fall back!" Tindall called, and the order was taken up and repeated. Many of the men were carrying dead or wounded comrades; all were caked in mud and blood, wild eyed with a combination of battle madness and exhaustion.

Much, much later, Horyse, Tindall and the other officers sat around the table in the command dugout. Butler, Curran and the other senior NCOs stood behind them, most leaning against the walls in their fatigue.

"That's probably the worst incursion yet," Tindall said, grimly. "First time we've had to fight all the way to sunrise. Casualties, sar' major?"

Butler stepped forward, consulting a list in his hand. "Twenty two wounded. Nine serious, the rest should be back once they're patched up. We've had to send half a dozen back as NYDN, including Lieutenant Maxwell."

"And the dead?"

"Seven confirmed, sir. We've brought five bodies back. Another eight missing."

Tindall looked grimmer than ever. "Who are the two confirmed?"

"McNade, and Smith '29, sir. Their mates tried to bring them in, but got pushed back."

"Alright," said Tindall. "Two platoons of D company are coming up as reinforcements. And a double-section of Scouts to go into no-man's land and mop up. I hope by the Charter that they can find those poor bastards and bring them back."

"Orders, sir?" said Horyse. As nominal second-in-command, he knew it was his job to ask.

"As soon as D are in the line, the men can stand down and get some food and sleep." He looked around at the platoon commanders. "Carry out a thorough inspection. Any wounds, however superficial, get them treated. Minor scratches to the aid post; anything else back to HQ. You know the drill." He turned to Horyse. "Mr Horyse, you and the CSM issue the rum ration. Report back to me when you are done."

By the time the rum was issued, D company were in the line, taking over the firing positions. Stretcher parties were in no-man's land searching for the wounded. Horyse noticed that every so often, one would draw his cutlass and strike visciously downwards, hacking at something on the ground. Wearily, Horyse pushed aside the curtain and stepped down into the command post. He was almost too tired to come to attention and make the formal report, and was relieved when Tindall motioned him to sit, and pushed a mug of steaming tea towards him.

"Get that down you. There's a tot in it." Horyse took a gulp and could barely taste the tea, so heavily was it laced with sugar and rum. He felt the warmth of it spread through his body, and began to revive. Tindall took a swig from his own mug, then sat up straight and looked at Horyse, lacing and unlacing his fingers.

"Mr Horyse," he said, and then after a moment's pause, "Sam. You did well today. Now, there are some things you need to know. Ideally, I would have briefed you before we came into the line, but there wasn't time. I'll be as brief as I can, I know that you need some shut-eye."

Horyse listened in growing astonishment as Tindall told him all he knew of the Old Kingdom. Horyse's head swam with the talk of the Charter, of Free Magic, and the Wall which kept such things from Ancelstierre. His greatest astonishment came when Tindall spoke of the Necromancers who could raise and command the dead, using seven free-magic spelled bells.

"The dead?" Horyse said, incredulously. "I thought they had some sort of disease. Lepers, something like that."

"No," answered Tindall. "Those were dead hands, the most common, and the weakest of the dead. But for them to come in such numbers and with such persistence, they must have been commanded by someone or something. A Necromancer of some power, or even one of the Greater Dead."

"But how can they cross the Wall?" Horyse asked.

"I am not sure," admitted Tindall. "But the Wall is part of the Charter, that much I know. Captain Karim spoke once of a corrupting or weakening of something called the Great Charters, but would not or could not say more. I can only guess that something is wrong in the Old Kingdom, and that this has weakened the protection afforded by the Wall."

Tindall was silent for a moment, and Horyse asked a question that had been nagging at him for some time.

"Sir, why were you so anxious to bring in the dead? On the Frontier we always tried to recover our dead for and honourable burial, but is there more to it than that?"

"Quite right," answered Tindall. "Any of our dead who fall into the enemy's clutches will almost certainly be brought back as hands. Only by recovering their bodies and burying them back at HQ can we prevent that happening. And with this weakening of the Wall, even that may not be enough any more."


	7. Chapter 7 Across the Wall

7\. Across the Wall

After three days in the front line, B Company retired to the reserve line, where one of their duties would be to send patrols into the Old Kingdom. On the second day, Captain Tindall summoned Horyse to his dugout. Horyse was not surprised to find Sergeant Curran there, poring over a map with Tindall. Horyse saluted and removed his steel helmet.

"Ah, Lieutenant Horyse. Come and have a look at this," Tindall said.

The map was quite unlike any that Horyse had seen before. True, the southern part was a standard military map, showing the Wall, the Perimeter and the countryside immediately behind the Perimeter. North of the Wall though, the map contained only the sketchiest of detail, most of it written in ink or pencil, in a variety of different hands.

"As you can see, our official map only extends to the Wall and not beyond," Tindall said.

"Are there no maps of the Old Kingdom, sir?" asked Horyse.

"We believe so, but we have never been able to get hold of one. The details you can see here are from information gathered by our patrols, and from patrols we meet from the guard post at Barhedrin Hill." Tindal pointed at a place on the map with the tip of a pencil.

"Sir, may I ask, if the Old Kingdom are patrolling the area north of the Wall, why do we need to as well?"

"We've always had regular patrols operating up to a mile or so north of the Wall, and we've maintained communications with Barhedrin. Over the last few years, the situation seems to have been deteriorating in the Old Kingdom. As far as I've been able to piece together, there hasn't been a king or queen in almost two hundred years. But until fairly recently, there was a pretty effective regency in place. We started to realise something was wrong, well, about two years ago, would you say, Sergeant?"

"That's about right, sir," Curran answered with a nod. "In the normal way of things, our patrols would meet up with Old Kingdom patrols pretty regularly. We'd exchange news, get a heads-up of any trouble coming our way, and so on. Then we started seeing fewer and fewer patrols. Those we did meet spoke about trouble in the interior. Villages being burned and the inhabitants massacred, only to be brought back as dead Hands. Guards being withdrawn from Barhedrin and other stations near the Wall and sent back to Bellisare."

"Then, about six months ago, a message came from Captain Karim at Barhedrin, asking for a meeting," Tindall continued. "Colonel McGovern was indisposed and never goes into the Old Kingdom if he can avoid it, so Major Nugent went. I accompanied him, so did Sergeant Curran. Long story short, Karim was asking for our help. The guard force at Barhedrin had been stripped back to a point where they could no longer effectively cover their whole patrol area, and they asked if we could assist. So, we agreed to patrol the region in front of, and to either side of, the Crossing Point." He pointed with his pencil at a small river, about ten miles to the north of the Wall. "This is the Southwater, which flows around the southern side of Barhedrin Hill and then turns north east, meeting the Rattelin just west of Orchyre, which is the nearest town of any size. We patrol the region between the Southwater and the Wall. The eastern limit of our area is a line due south from the foot of Barhedrin Hill to the Wall. This road here," he pointed at a road that ran alongside the Southwater for some distance before turning northward to pass around Barhedrin Hill. "This is the Wall Way, which runs more or less parallel to the Wall from east to west. Here," he indicated the map again, "is a ruined village. It was abandoned, or destroyed, some years ago, long before we began patrolling that area. The western limit of our patrols is a line running from the village, due south to meet the Wall." Tindall paused and looked at Curran, then at Horyse.

"I'm sending you out on an extended patrol, lieutenant, to get the lie of the land, so to speak." He gave Horyse a stern look, quite unlike his normal, easy-going demeanour. "Make no mistake, Lieutenant, Sergeant Curran is in command of this patrol. You are there to watch and learn. In the Old Kingdom, the slightest mistake can mean death, or worse. Is that understood?" He demanded.

"Yes, sir!" Horyse put every ounce of sincerity he had into his reply. He was beginning to understand just what the 'or worse' to which Tindall referred could mean.

"Very good, Lieutenant. If anything happens to the Sergeant, Corporal Lyons will take over. If Lyons goes down as well, you must get the patrol back as best you can. Sergeant," he turned to Curran, "as well as Lyons, I can give you Private Horrocks. That's all the Scouts I can spare. Pick another four to make the number up to eight."

"Anshye, sir," the sergeant said with a grin. "And I'll find a couple of others."

As the sun began to sink, Horyse and the rest of the patrol assembled in the forward trench. Curran had explained that due to the strange nature of time on either side of the Wall, sunset in Ancelstierre corresponded roughly with dawn in the Old Kingdom, meaning that they would have maximum daylight. Curran walked along the line, inspecting weapons and equipment. He inspected Horyse just as thoroughly as anyone else, testing the edge of his cutlass and nodding approval when it drew a small bead of blood. "You got a knife, sir? And a cosh? And any of those star things?"

In fact, Horyse felt more like a brigand, or a Frontier tribesman, than an officer of the Ancelstierran Army. Instead of an officer's breeches and riding boots, he wore the hobnailed combat boots and puttees of the Other Ranks. His tunic was covered by a thigh-length leather jerkin; the insignia of the Arquebusier Guards, of which he had once been so proud, were now blacked out with boot polish. His forage cap was covered by the shapeless woollen covering that the men referred to as a 'cap comforter', and he had a steel helmet slung beneath his pack. On Curran's advice, he had left his revolver in his dugout, and felt almost naked without the comforting feel of the holster against his right thigh, and the weight of a .303 rifle slung on his shoulder. But, instead of the revolver, he had a sturdy, broad-bladed dagger, and a round shield slung over his shoulder in place of the rifle; and the cutlass slung on his left side was wickedly sharp. His favourite fighting knife was tucked into one boot, with a smaller throwing knife in his sleeve. The pouches that would have carried ammunition held instead several of the wickedly sharp Korovian throwing stars. At last, Curran was satisfied.

"Let's go, lads, sir. Corporal Lyons, take point."

Captain Tindall, who had been watching nearby, stepped forward and blew his whistle.

"Crossing point party, on the double. One patrol of eight men to cross."

A corporal nearby wound the handle of the klaxon, and the men in the trenches and listening saps stood to, bayonets at the ready. A platoon-sized formation, composed entirely of Scouts, doubled away along a forward sap that Horyse had not noticed before, Tindall going with them. Curran nodded to Woods who moved off along the trench. Horyse himself was placed in the middle of the file of men, with the sergeant in front of him and Anshye behind. Private Horrocks, the other Scout, brought up the rear.

To Horyse's surprise, the sap began to rise towards ground level, emerging into no-man's land just in front of the Wall. A tunnel had opened in the Wall, though Horyse had seen no sign of any door or entry-way in that section. Tindall was standing in front of the opening, with a half-dozen or so of the Scouts.

"Patrol standing by to cross, sir," called Curran.

"Very good, Sergeant. On me," answered Tindall. The patrol followed him into the tunnel, with the Scouts falling in as a rear guard.

The tunnel was short, perhaps four or five meters in length and lined with blocks of grey stone. It seemed lighter than it should be inside, given that it was dusk outside, and none of the men were using flashlights. Horyse thought he could see strange symbols on the stones in his peripheral vision, but whenever he tried to focus on them, they shifted and moved away. Then he was through the tunnel and out into the other side, where two lines of Scouts, swords drawn, formed what almost seemed to be an honour guard, except that they were facing outwards.

Horyse halted in surprise. The balmy warmth of an unseasonably mild autumn night had been replaced with a penetrating cold and the unmistakable signs of a frost to come. The sky was cloudless, but the familiar stars had changed. Where was Polarion, the North Star, by which anyone, anywhere in Anclestierre could orient themselves? Instead, a baleful orange star glowed above the horizon in a direction Horyse estimated to be just west of north. He pulled out his compass and was somehow not surprised to see the needle spinning, uselessly.

"Come on, sir! We need to get away from the wall, fast. Before we attract attention." Curran's whispered order brought Horyse back to his senses, and he followed as the patrol moved off, swiftly and silently, into the Old Kingdom.


	8. Chapter 8: The Broken Stone

8\. Broken stone

That first night, the patrol made camp at a place the soldiers called 'The Loop'. Here, an incised meander of the Southwater made a narrow-necked peninsular which was almost as good as an island in terms of being surrounded by running water. Sergeant Curran explained to Horyse that this was one of a number of bivouac sites that were used regularly by Ancelstierran patrols, and that contained hidden caches of emergency supplies.

The patrol made camp quietly and efficiently, excavating shell-scrapes and hunting for firewood, which they piled onto the blackened remains of a previous fire. Horyse wondered about this, given the lengths they had gone to in order to remain hidden on the way here.

"We'll cast a Diamond of Protection and that will hide the flames, sir," explained Curran, leaving Horyse not much the wiser. "Besides, a fire is extra protection against the Dead."

A fragment of rhyme came to Horyse's mind, something he had chanted as a small boy, playing hopscotch or skipping games.

_If water fails thee, fire's thy friend;_

_ If neither serve, it will be thine end._

He had always thought it nonsense, a mere children's skipping rhyme. But could it have some truth in it, like the one about the Ring of Roses which one of his history masters at school had told him was based on the Great Plague.

His thoughts were diverted by the sight of one of the soldiers who was lying face down on the riverbank. The man had removed his tunic and rolled up his sleeves, and one arm was plunged into the icy water.

"What on earth is that man doing, Sergeant?" he demanded. Curran grinned at him.

"Just watch, sir."

A moment later, there was a flurry of water and the man flicked a fat trout onto the bank. Another soldier grabbed the fish, dispatched it neatly with his knife and began to gut it. Curran turned to Horyse with a smile.

"Private Rowland, sir. He's from Westwale and one of the best woodsmen on the Perimeter."

That explained it. Westwale was an isolated region, much of it forest; and its woodsmen and forresters were renowned for their ability to live off the land. By the time the camp preparations were finished, dusk was beginning to fall, and Horyse saw Curran talking quietly to Corporal Woods, the patrol's other member of the Crossing Point Scouts. Both men drew their swords. Horyse's hand went to the hilt of his, but he noticed that none of the other soldiers had even looked up from their various tasks. Curran went to the eastern edge of the camp and Woods to the west. Both stood facing outwards; swords pointing towards the ground. As Horyse watched, fascinated, light began to flow along the blades of their swords, growing in intensity. Then at the exact same moment, the light left the two blades and struck the ground, forming a strange, glowing mark that reminded Horyse of the strange tattoos worn by the Scouts.

The two men moved, Curran going to the northern side of the camp and Woods to the south. Again, they cast that strange light into the ground, and again, mysterious glowing symbols appeared. This time, Curran waited until Woods had cast his mark before casting his own. When he did so, glowing lines like fire appeared on the ground, joining the four marks.

"Diamond of Protection, sir," explained Curran, seeing Horyse's puzzled expression. "We cast marks east, west and south. Then the North Mark joins them together. It's a good casting," he nodded approval at Woods. "It'll keep out Dead Hands, Shadow Hands and lesser Free Magic creatures. Won't keep out anything powerful, like a Mordicant, but it'll delay them. And it'll conceal us from prying eyes. Means we can have a fire."

The fire was welcome for its light and warmth, and the four large trout caught by Rowland provided a welcome addition to army rations. The Diamond of Protection explained much, Horyse thought. Normally, patrols would never use the same bivouac site repeatedly; and they would conceal all traces of their presence before leaving. It seemed that the concealing power of the Diamond negated the need for such precautions.

Horyse woke instinctively as dawn broke, to find Curran already re-awakening the embers of the fire. The breakfast menu was utterly familiar to Horyse: porridge made from an oatmeal, milk powder and sugar mix, which could be eaten cold but was so much better hot; and hot tea with plenty of sugar. As the men broke camp, dousing the fire and refilling the shell scrapes, Curran outlined the day's itinerary to Horyse.

"We'll head north to Kallnesh and check out the village. It's been used by Necromancers in the past to gather Dead Hands for an attack on the Wall by hiding them in the ruins. Then work our way eastward along the Southwater and camp at Terchere's Island. Tomorrow we'll strike south-east, meeting the Wallway a mile or so north of the Crossing Point. Then work our way up the eastern side of the Wallway to Last Bridge."

The patrol made ready to depart. Curran nodded to Corporal Woods, who raised his right hand with the first two fingers outstretched, pointing them at the North Mark. He spoke a single word and the North Mark vanished, the line of fire retreating back to the East Mark, which disappeared in its turn. When all four marks were gone, Curran nodded.

"Alright lads, let's go. Anshye, take point. You stay close to me, sir."

Horyse nodded his agreement, very much aware of his ignorance and inexperience in this strange country. Unobtrusively he checked yet again that his sword and dagger were loose in their scabbards; and that he had throwing stars to hand.

As the morning drew on, Horyse became aware of a feeling of unease that pricked at the back of his mind. He put it down to the strangeness of being in the Old Kingdom, until Woods, now on point, made a signal with his hand. Immediately the patrol halted and went into all-round defence, facing outwards on all sides, weapons drawn and ready. Curran took out a pair of field glasses and scanned not the horizon, but the sky; then beckoned to Woods and pointed almost directly overhead. Woods looked through the glasses and nodded, then handed the glasses to Horyse.

Horyse looked through them at the area of sky indicated by Curran, unsure of what he was supposed to see. What he did see almost made him drop the glasses in amazement. Circling high above the patrol were two black birds. At first glance they appeared to be large crows or maybe ravens; but their flesh was rotting and every so often, one would shed a feather. Their empty eye sockets glowed from within, and Horyse got the impression of some sort of malevolent intelligence. He handed the glasses back to Curran with a questioning look.

"Gore Crows, sir." Curran explained briefly how a Necromancer would trap and kill the birds, infusing them with a Dead spirit to use as spies, or in large numbers to attack from above. "Probably means there is someone, or something, in Kallnesh. Whoever they are, they're not very intelligent though. If they were, they'd put the Gore Crows between us and the sun, where they'd be harder to spot."

"Or could be, they think they're strong enough not to care, Sarn't," opined Corporal Woods.

"Good point, Corporal. We'll loop round and approach the village from the west, where there's more cover."

An hour or so later, the patrol lay prone on the low ridge that overlooked the ruins of Kallnesh from the north. Horyse scanned the village with his field glasses and saw no signs of activity, but he was beginning to realise that this did not necessarily mean all was safe. He looked enquiringly at Curran.

"I can't see anything moving, sir, and I don't detect the presence of the dead. Corporal?"

"Me neither, Sarn't," Woods replied in a low voice, "and it looks like we've lost the Gore Crows."

Curran nodded, thoughtfully. "I still don't like it. What were they doing following us in the first place?" he asked, rhetorically. "We'll move in for a closer look. Move down in pairs, one to move while the other covers. Corporal Woods, Private Anshye, you go first. Re-group on the edge of the village."

The cover and manoeuvre routing was very familiar to Horyse, although he noticed that the pairs kept much closer together than normal, since they were armed with swords rather than rifles. He himself moved down with Curran, sword drawn and staying as low as possible while they moved from one area of cover to the next before regrouping on the edge of the ruins. Then Curran made a signal to Anshye, who dashed across the waste ground to take cover in the ruins of the first house, Corporal Woods following close behind.

The patrol worked their way from one ruined building to another, towards the centre of the village. In many ways it was no different to searches Horyse had carried out of villages on the Frontier. But he was amazed at the level of devastation. Only a few walls remained standing, and those were blackened as if by fire. It looked, Horyse thought, as though a heavy artillery bombardment had been let loose; but hadn't Tindall told him that artillery did not work north of the Wall?

As they approached the centre, Horyse felt a growing sense of nausea and dread, reminding him of that day at Dockey Point. He could not help noticing that both Sergeant Curran and Corporal Woods were looking white and drawn. The patrol emerged from a narrow alley between two ruined houses and into what was once the village square. The sun was now high in the sky, but Horyse felt a deep, bone-aching chill and despite all his efforts began to shiver. In the centre of the square was a large stone, blackened and broken. Fighting the nausea, he approached it, sword drawn; but before he could reach it, the sickness overcame him and he fell to his knees, retching violently.

"Easy, sir, you're alright now." Strong hands under his arms, pulling him into his feet and half guiding, half carrying him back to the cover of the ruined alleyway. Then Sergeant Curran pushed something between his lips and he felt a burning sensation as he swallowed the harsh army issue rum.

"You alright, sir? Can you walk?" Curran's voice was low and urgent. "The village is clear, but we shouldn't hang around here."

"Yes, sarn't, I can walk," Horyse answered. And indeed, as they moved further away from the village square, he felt better and better. By the time they were on top of the ridge to the east of Kallnish, he felt entirely well again, just like that day at Dockey point.

"What was that?" he asked Curran, when they took a short break undercover of some woods overlooking the Southwater. Curran shook his head.

"Not now, sir. We'll reach Terchere's Island well before sundown. We can talk there."

Terchere's Island turned out to be a low bank of shingle, topped with some sparse turf and scrubby bushes and surrounded on both sides by shallow, but fast, channels of water. By the time darkness fell, the camp was prepared and the men relaxed a little, guarded by fire, running water and a Diamond of Protection.

Sitting slightly apart from the rest of the patrol, Curran spoke quietly to Horyse, telling him of the Charter Stones that protected every settlement in the Old Kingdom; and how they could be broken by a Necromancer or Free Magic adept, to unleash Free Magic or open a way into Death. He explained that Horyse's illness was almost certainly a reaction to the evil of the broken stone.

"It affects every Charter Mage like that, sir," Curran said.

"I noticed you and Woods looked pale," Horyse observed.

"Yes," answered Curran. "In the Scouts we are trained to deal with it, to master the sickness." Then he frowned. "I never knew it affect someone like that who wasn't a Charter Mage. You ever feel anything like it before?"

Briefly, Horyse told him of the incident at Dockey Point. Curran frowned again.

"Never heard of Free Magic that far into Ancelstierre, sir. You're probably right about it being some sort of strange influenza. But if I might be so bold, sir, you should mention it to Captain Tindall, seeing as it was so similar to what happened today."


	9. Chapter 9: Captain Karim

9\. Captain Karim

After a hot meal, and a good night's sleep interrupted only by his period of guard duty, Horyse found that the last lingering sense of unease he felt from his encounter with the broken Charter Stone had disappeared. A faint mist hovered over the surface of the river, but the rising sun was already beginning to disperse it by the time the patrol moved out.

That morning, they headed due south, rather than eastwards towards Last Bridge. Curran explained that the southern shore of the Southwater between Terchere's Island and Last Bridge was heavily wooded and the going very difficult, although it did provide good protection from Gore Crows.

"We'll skirt southwards along the western edge of the wood, sir, then cut back northeast for the Wallway and Last Bridge. The going is much easier, and the woods are close at hand if those Gore Crows reappear."

Shortly after midday, the patrol reached the Wallway; a wide, paved road that ran from the Crossing Point to the guard post at Barhedrin. The patrol approached the Wallway cautiously. When they were close, Curran pointed at one of the Mile Markers that were placed all along the length of the Wallway.

"Corporal Woods, check for Patrol Sign. Anshye, cover him."

Woods approached the stone slowly, sword drawn and using every scrap of cover. When he reached it, he knelt beside it, running his hands over its lichen-clad surface and appearing to listen. When his questing fingers reached a particular spot, Horyse thought he saw golden light blossom beneath them. To his surprise, Woods stood upright and came back to them along the road; and Curran went to meet him, no longer making any attempt to conceal himself.

"A patrol passed through this morning, Sarn't," said Woods. "They report the Wallway clear between Barhedrin and the Crossing point. Countryside to the east clear as well. They are making another sweep eastwards, then back towards Last Bridge."

"Good work, corporal. We'll use the Wallway and head direct for Last Bridge, and leave a Patrol Sign there to report our patrol sector clear."

They trod the Wallway swiftly. As they marched, Curran continued to instruct Horyse.

"That was a Patrol Sign, sir. It's a simple Charter Spell used to convey information and warnings. There are particular places used by patrols from both sides to leave signs. Milemarkers, certain trees, and the bridgeposts at Last Bridge."

Horyse was fascinated, but had one concern.

"Is the information reliable? What if it was there to mislead us, or lure us into a trap?" Curran shook his head.

"Not possible, sir. It's a Charter spell, so impossible for Necromancers, Free Magic creatures or the dead to use it themselves. And if they tried to compel a Charter Mage to leave false sign, it would leave a corruption in the Marks. Subtle, but recognisable to any Charter Mage in the Scouts or the Royal Guard. Plus, it's impossible for enemies to read Patrol Sign. Actually, it's more secure and reliable than anything we have south of the Wall."

Horyse nodded agreement at this. Communications on the Frontier had relied on wireless, which was often disrupted by sandstorms, or sabotage; and which could be intercepted by enemies.

Towards mid-afternoon, the patrol reached the top of a small rise. Ahead of them, the Wallway descended towards the Southwater, which was spanned by a three-arched stone bridge. Rowland, at the head of the patrol, pointed to the other side of the bridge, where the road snaked back and forth up a steep hillside.

"Movement, sir, sarn't."

Curran scanned the road with his field glasses.

"Old Kingdom patrol," he said. Horyse looked with his own glasses and saw half a dozen mounted soldiers wearing mail or armour, with red and gold surcoats. They carried lances, with red and gold pennants flying from the tips. Their leader had a red and gold plume streaming from his visored helmet.

"They've seen us," said Curran. "Let's go down and meet them. We'll reach the bridge at about the same time." He studied the patrol again, then frowned. "I do believe that's Captain Karim at their head, and they've come out deliberately to find us. Must be something important, if Karim is leading them."

The Ancelstierrans reached the bridge first, and formed up on the roadway with Horyse and Sergeant Curran at their head. The red and gold-clad horsemen clattered across the bridge and drew up opposite the Ancelstierran patrol. Their leader handed his horse's reins to another soldier and dismounted, walking forward to meet Curran. Curran halted and gave an immaculate parade-ground salute, which Captain Karim returned. Then both removed their helmets and went through the strange forehead-touching ritual that Horyse had observed among the scouts.

"Sergeant Curran, it's good to see you again," said Karim. Even before Curran replied with, "and you, ma'am," Horyse realised with a shock that Karim was a woman. In her early forties perhaps, with a tough, weather beaten face and close-cropped dark hair that was streaked with grey.

"It's not often we see you out here, Captain," continued Curran.

"No, indeed," answered Karim. "But you have a new officer I see."

"Yes, ma'am, this is Lieutenant Horyse."

Horyse stepped forward and saluted, feeling self-conscious.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"And you, Lieutenant." She looked at Curran, who was still frowning slightly. "You are wondering why I came out myself, just to meet your new officer? The fact is, we received a message hawk yesterday. The Clayr Saw us meeting today, on this very bridge, and seemed to think it was important. They also Saw that this young man will be instrumental in defeating one of the Greater Dead, though the vision was not clear and they could not say where or when this will happen."

This was entirely baffling to Horyse, though apparently not to Curran who was nodding as though it all made perfect sense.

"I also have a message for Captain Tindall," Karim continued. "The Clayr have Seen some sort of attack on the Crossing Point. You should ensure that your defences are in good order, and that you have your strongest Charter Mages prepared to meet any threat."

Curran nodded again. "We thought something was amiss," he said. "We were tracked by Gore Crows up near Kallnesh, but the village itself was quiet. Too quiet," he added.

Karim frowned. "You should keep a close eye on that village," she said. "The broken Charter Stone weakens the boundary between Life and Death, and there are many dead buried there. An accomplished Necromancer could assemble a couple of hundred Dead Hands in a matter of hours. Though the Clayr seemed to think that the attack will take some hitherto unseen form." She paused for a moment. "You should also tell Captain Tindall that there is more trouble in Bellisare, and that a further half-company from my garrison has been recalled to deal with it. Rumour has it that the Regent has been assassinated. I do wonder if someone, or something, is deliberately trying to weaken the garrison at Barhedrin. The fact is, if there is an attack on the Crossing Point, I may not be able to send help. And if we are attacked, I may need help from the Perimeter garrison."

Curran nodded. "We'll be ready, ma'am. And I'll convey your message to the Captain." He fumbled in his haversack, then handed Karim a small package, wrapped in brown paper. She carefully tore back some of the paper, then smiled.

"Thank you, Sergeant." She turned to Horyse. "It was good to meet you, Lieutenant. I have a feeling that we will meet again before long. Sergeant Curran, you should return as swiftly as you can and deliver my message. The Wallway is clear, and you should reach the Crossing Point before sundown."

They exchanged salutes. Karim remounted, then the Old Kingdom soldiers wheeled their horses around, and clattered back over the bridge, their horses' hooves striking sparks from the flagstones.

For a few minutes, the Ancelstierran soldiers stood in silence, watching them go. Then Curran turned to the others.

"Alright, lads. We're supposed to be out another two days, but an urgent message from Karim trumps that. We make directly for the Crossing Point. Smith 56, take point."

As they marched, Curran turned to Horyse.

"What did you make of Captain Karim, sir?"

"She's not quite what I expected," admitted Horyse.

"Because she's a woman, sir?" answered Curran. "About half the garrison are women. We tend to think that in Ancelstierre we are years ahead of the Old Kingdom, but in many ways, they are ahead of us. A woman can rise to the highest ranks in their military, or in any guild or profession. Karim is one of the finest soldiers I know, and the best Charter Mage."

Horyse nodded, thinking of Jayelle whose dearest ambition was to be a doctor. Despite his own and Miss Fortescue's full support, she faced an uphill struggle against the convention in Ancelstierre that men became doctors and women became nurses. Then he thought of another question.

"What on earth are the Clayr?"

"You've got me there, sir," Curran answered with a grin. "Never quite managed to make sense of that. As far as I can tell it's some sort of cult that can see the future. I know, sounds preposterous to us. But we've had warnings of attacks from them before and they've been right on the money, so standing orders are that any messages from them are to be passed straight to Captain Tindall or the CO."

"I see," said Horyse, and then, "and what was that package you gave Captain Karim?"

"Tea, sir," Curran answered with a chuckle. "Captain Karim is very partial to Ancelstierran tea. They have tea in the Old Kingdom but it's poor, weak stuff which they drink with slices of lemon." He scowled at such perversion. "Karim has developed a liking for the proper stuff. Army ration tea, strong, with milk and plenty of sugar. I always bring some with me on patrol, and either hand it to any Old Kingdom patrols I meet, or cache it at Last Bridge."


	10. Chapter 10: Fog on the Perimeter

10\. Fog on the Perimeter

Over the next few weeks, Horyse took part in more patrols into the Old Kingdom, and was soon trusted to lead a patrol himself, though always with an experienced Charter mage from the Scouts as backup. As autumn advanced into winter, northerly winds became more and more common on the Perimeter. Reports came from as far south as Bain of technology failing. The attack which Karim had warned of did not happen; if anything, attacks from the Dead became less and less frequent. What did happen, though, was that a strange, cold fog rolled in from the north, settling in the trenches and dugouts.

At the same time, there was an outbreak of influenza which spread quickly through the Perimeter garrison. It soon became apparent that the illness was linked to the fog. It seemed to affect the Charter Mages of the Scouts much more than the regular troops; and the stronger the Charter Mage, the worse they were affected. A hospital was set up behind the lines, out of reach of the fog, where soldiers were sent to recover. Once recovered, the regular troops seemed to develop some sort of immunity, but the Scouts could still only tolerate the fog for a limited amount of time before falling ill again. The fog proved to be the final straw for Colonel McGovern, who succumbed to pneumonia and was evacuated to Bain and an eventual medical discharge. To the universal relief of the garrison, this left the second-in-command, Major Collins, in charge. Collins was not a Charter Mage, but he was well regarded as soldier and a leader, and he had an intimate knowledge of the Perimeter and the Old Kingdom.

Horyse found himself among a small group who were completely unaffected by the fog and seemed to have some sort of innate immunity. As a result, he was kept busy with extra duties, filling in for other officers who were stricken; at one point, even taking command when Major Collins was hospitalised. Collins had only just returned, and the fog was at its densest yet, when he summoned Horyse to his office. On entering, Horyse was surprised to see Captain Tindall there. Even though he had seen other victims of the fog, Horyse was shocked at how pale and drawn his friend looked.

"Lieutenant Horyse," Collins began, and was overcome by a bout of coughing. "Lieutenant," he said again.

"Sir?"

"Captain Tindall and I both agree that this can't go on. Things are getting pretty desperate. Most of the Scouts are out of action, and Frank here is under direct orders from the MO to return to hospital once this meeting is finished."

Horyse nodded. On medical matters, the MO had absolute authority and even a more senior officer would have to obey a direct order.

"I've thought long and hard about the best course of action," continued the major. "It seems to me that this is some sort of deliberate attack from the Old Kingdom, aimed specifically at weakening our Charter mages. Possibly this is the attack that Captain Karim warned us about?" He looked enquiringly at Tindall, who nodded.

"That is what I think. Remember, the message from the Clayr said that the attack would take a hitherto unseen form. This fog would certainly fit that description."

Horyse nodded his agreement. "What could be behind it, sir?"

"I've no idea," admitted Collins. "In matters pertaining to the Old Kingdom, I am happy to listen to the experts. Captain?" he nodded at Tindall.

"There are several possibilities," said Tindall. "A Necromancer is the most likely. But it could be one of the Greater Dead, or a free magic being. A Mordicant would have power enough."

"What about sending to Barhedrin, to ask Karim for advice?" asked Horyse.

"The problem is, we don't know how far this fog extends beyond the Wall," answered Collins. "I sent a four-man patrol out before I was taken ill, to reconnoitre along the Wallway, and try and make contact with Barhedrin. Only one returned, and he cannot speak. The MO had to send him back as NYDN."

The major paused, fiddling with a pen and doodling something on his blotter. Then he looked up and fixed Horyse with a penetrating glare.

"Mr Horyse, what I am about to ask of you is extremely dangerous. So dangerous that I will not order you to do it, nor any other man. I want you to take command of a larger patrol, ten men including yourself, into the Old Kingdom. Establish the perimeter of the fog, and if you can, either link up with a patrol from Barhedrin or go there in person."

Horyse paused in thought. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

"Of course," Collins replied.

"Just that… What makes you think I can succeed where the last patrol didn't?"

"Two things," answered Collins, and looked at Tindall. "You explain, Captain."

"Yes sir," answered Tindall. "Mr Horyse," he began, and was overcome by a fit of coughing. "Sam," he began again. "You seem to have an affinity with the Old Kingdom. You have a definite connection to the Charter, though you have no Charter Mark. Sergeant Curran and I have both sensed it, and your strong reaction to the broken stone in Kallnesh backs that up. Tell me, what do you see when you go through the Crossing Point? Be honest, now."

"I see strange symbols," admitted Horyse. "They are right on the edge of my vision, and seem to be moving somehow. But whenever I try to look at them directly, they vanish."

"Quite so," said Tindall. "What you see are the Charter Marks that are woven into the very fabric of the Wall, giving it its power to protect Ancelstierre from the various supernatural powers and beings that affect the Old Kingdom. It's virtually unheard of for one who has no baptismal Charter Mark to see them, or to experience a reaction to a broken Charter Stone."

"But what does that mean, sir?" Horyse asked.

"It is clear that you have a connection to the Charter, and you are also one of a small handful of men who are immune to this blasted fog. It is my speculation that this will give you some protection from whatever is causing it."

Horyse nodded. "You mentioned two things, sir?"

This time it was Collins who answered. "The last patrol I sent out had no Charter Mages. But we have one now that we can send with you, one who also seems immune to the effects of the fog."

"Who, sir?"

Collins grimaced. "A man named Hedge. A rather unsavoury character, truth be told. He was a sergeant in the Scouts until recently. He went missing from a patrol that had been attacked by dead hands, only to turn up a few weeks later, unharmed. He claimed he had been knocked unconscious and that was how he got separated; and that he had been wandering the Old Kingdom, suffering from memory loss. Then there was a bit of a brawl in a tavern in Bain. One of the other lads from the patrol claimed that Hedge had run away. Hedge punched the man and knocked him out cold. Got busted to private and given a month in the glasshouse. He's been back about a week."

Tindall frowned. "How on earth do we get him to volunteer, sir?"

"That's the big question. Anyway, I've asked the RSM to fetch him so we'll see. Maybe he's turned over a new leaf." Collins spoke a few words into the intercom, and a moment later the door was flung open, and they could hear RSM Hollins in the outer office.

"Private Hedge, Private Hedge… 'SHUN. By the left, quick MARCH. 'Eft 'ight, 'eft, 'ight, MARK TIME! Private Hedge, HALT! SALUTE. Orrrrf… CAPS! Private Hedge, sir," he added, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Thank you, Sar' Major," replied Collins. "Now, Private, I expect you are wondering why you've been called in."

As Collins outlined the situation and the mission, Horyse to the opportunity to surreptitiously study Hedge. He was a small man, with red-brown hair and a pointed face the reminded Horyse somehow of a fox. Unlike most of the Scouts, he wore his fringe low over his forehead, concealing the characteristic tattoo. Horyse felt uneasy about this, though he could not say why. He also felt that something important had been missed. He realised that Hedge and Tindall had not carried out the ritual of touching one another's tattoos that seemed to be a custom whenever two Scouts met. Horyse assumed that this was because Tindall was an officer and Hedge an enlisted man; it was only much, much later that he realised how different things could have been had the ritual been carried out.

As Collins continued to speak, Horyse noticed that Hedge's face seemed to take on a sly, calculating expression. Horyse felt a dislike bordering on revulsion for the man, along with a slight feeling of nausea, echoing what he had felt at Dockey Point and the broken Charter Stone. He hoped that this did not mean he was, after all, succumbing to the effects of the fog. Collins leaned back in his chair.

"Well, Private, what do you say?"

Hedge's face took on a sneering expression. "What I wanna know, sir, is what's in it for me?" Hedge's voice and demeanour had that subtle quality known as dumb insolence, and Horyse was not surprised to hear a bark from the RSM.

"HEDGE!"

"That's all right, Sar' Major," said Collins, in a deceptively mild tone. "I would have thought, Private Hedge, that the chance to restore your good reputation after recent events would be compensation enough."

"Well, sir, it depends exactly what you mean by 'restore my good reputation'. I mean, reputation's one thing but it don't pay no bills. I got my retirement to think about."

"So, it's money you want?" Collins looked disgusted.

"Now, sir, I ain't no mercenary," Hedge answered, pretending to be shocked. "No, I was thinking more like restoration of rank, sir."

Collins frowned. "The sentence of the Court Martial was six months' reduction in rank. I can't go against that."

"Then, I can't help you, sir. I promised my old ma, see, that I'd never volunteer for anything. Can't break my word, sir."

Collins sighed. "Alright. I will make you acting corporal for this mission, the rank to be confirmed if the task is completed successfully and subject to a satisfactory report from Lieutenant Horyse. And provided you keep your nose clean, I will promote you to sergeant as soon as the six months expires. That is the best I can do, take it or leave it."

"Then, I guess it'll do me, sir. After all, gotta do my bit for flag and country, and my comrades."

"Alright, RSM, march him out."

Horyse fancied that there was an extra tone of disgust in the RSM's voice as he marched Hedge out of the office. Horyse turned to the other two officers.

"Can we trust him, sir?"

"I doubt it," answered Collins. "But I think that as long as he believes there's something in it for him, he will follow orders. What do you think, Captain?"

"I agree," Tindall answered, and was interrupted again by a paroxysm of coughing. When he recovered, he continued, "don't trust him, and never turn your back. Follow your instincts. I wish I could lead this mission, sir," he added, looking at Collins. "It may be that north of the wall is clear of the fog." Collins shook his head firmly.

"Only place you are going, Frank, is back to hospital. You've already been here longer than is good for you. Now, Mr Horyse, pick eight men to bring the patrol up to ten. If I may make a suggestion, take Corporal Razoul, if he's willing to go. He's not a Scout, but he's one of our best regular NCOs, and certainly more than a match for Hedge. For the rest, pick men who are dependable. The RSM can help with that."

"I'd like Anshye, sir, if he'll volunteer. Rowland as well."

Tindall gave a bark of laughter, which turned into another coughing fit that left him pale and gasping. Collins also laughed. "You'd have a bigger problem stopping Anshye, he seems to have appointed himself as your bodyguard as well as batman. Alright, Frank, there's an ambulance waiting for you. Thanks for coming, but I don't want to see you here again until this blasted fog has gone. Mr Horyse, you cross the Wall at sunset. Be here with Razoul and Hedge for a final briefing at 4 pip emma. Carry on."


	11. Chapter 11: Betrayal at Last Bridge

11\. Betrayal at Last Bridge

Leading the way into the tunnel beneath the Wall that afternoon, Horyse paid more attention than he had before to the strange, elusive symbols. He found that by looking just to one side rather than directly at them, the symbols became a little clearer, appearing to glow slightly with a faint, golden light. They seemed strangely familiar, and Horyse realised that they resembled the strange forehead tattoos or scars worn by the Scouts.

Emerging from the tunnel, Horyse was unsurprised to find that there was no fog; only a hint of dawn mist, of the sort that would burn off in the warmth of the morning sun. It was late spring in the Old Kingdom, and the day promised to be sunny and mild, without being too hot.

"Anshye, take point," Horyse commanded. "Corporal Razoul, bring up the rear. The rest of you, patrol formation. Corporal Hedge, with me."

"With respect, sir," Hedge said, in a voice that was anything but respectful, "As the only Scout in this patrol, I should take point."

"Negative, corporal." Horyse made his voice crisp and firm. He knew that he had to stamp his authority from the beginning. "Anshye, lead off. Due north until we pick up the Southwater, then we will follow it east and make for Last Bridge." Hedge made as if to speak, but Horyse held up a hand. "Until we have a better idea of what is happening, I want running water close at hand for as long as possible."

Anshye set off purposefully, the others falling into a loose diamond formation that allowed them to cover one another. Razoul, covering the rear, was a Korovian; a tough, experienced soldier with several long-service stripes who. He reminded Horyse of Sergeant Kalil, the Frontier Ranger who had taught him to use the throwing stars, and it was reassuring to have him along. It was clear that the men respected Razoul and that if it came to a confrontation with Hedge, Razoul's backing would ensure that it was Horyse they would follow.

The day was uneventful and they made good progress, reaching the Southwater in the late afternoon. As the sun began to sink towards the western horizon, Horyse felt a growing sense of unease. Halting the patrol briefly, he scanned the horizon and sky with his field glasses. There they were; three circling black dots, almost directly overhead. Wordlessly, Horyse handed the glasses to Hedge and pointed upwards.

"Gore Crows, sir," Hedge said, confirming what Horyse already suggested.

"Terchere's Island is nearby," Razoul said. "I recommend we make for there and bivvy up for the night."

"Terchere's is 5 miles away," objected Hedge. "And who wants to start a patrol with wet boots? Sir," he turned to Horyse, "they're only Gore Crows."

"Where there are Gore Crows, there may be other things nearby," answered Horyse. "Terchere's is a good suggestion, corporal." He nodded approval at Razoul.

"But sir," said Hedge, continuing his objections, "I can't feel the presence of any other Dead between here and the Wall. We can camp on the banks of the Southwater and have it between us and any Dead approaching from the north."

Horyse pretended to consider this suggestion for a moment, then shook his head, firmly. "No, corporal," he said. "We don't know what or who is behind this fog, and I'm not taking any chances. Terchere's Island it is. Corporal Razoul, you take point; Private Rowland bring up the rear. Forced march pace."

Razoul led off at crisp pace. Stealth and camouflage were pointless now, with Gore Crows overhead, and Horyse wanted to reach the island while the sun was still in the sky. Out of the corner of one eye he noticed Anshye falling in unobtrusively behind him, covering his back. Horyse knew now for certain that Hedge was not to be trusted. A Charter mage of Hedge's rank should have sensed the Gore Crows long before they were directly overhead. That meant one of two things. Either, Hedge's power had been lost, and with it his ability to sense the dead; or, more likely, he had sensed them a long time ago and neglected to warn Horyse. Probably, thought Horyse grimly, he had hoped that the Gore Crows would go completely undetected. Even grimmer was the knowledge that there could easily be Dead between here and the Wall. Had Hedge been trying to lure him into a trap?

The sun had just touched the western horizon when they reached Terchere's Island; and Horyse was relieved to see the familiar low bank of shingle with its sparse turf and straggling bushes. Without complaint, the men forded the freezing water. The RSM had chosen the patrol well, Horyse realised. A few quiet words of direction from Corporal Razoul had the men hard at work preparing a laying-up position for the night. Some dug shallow shell-scrapes; others cut down some of the scrubby bushes or scavenged along the island's shore for firewood; Rowland went straight to his favourite trout-tickling spot and soon had three good-sized fish to supplement their iron rations. The arrival of the Gore Crows had one benefit, Horyse realised; with no need for stealth, a fire would provide welcome warmth and protection. Hedge watched the preparations sullenly, taking no part. Horyse considered asking him to cast a Diamond of Protection, but rejected the idea. He did not trust Hedge to do it properly. Better, he decided, to rely on keeping a good watch. He gave orders to mount a double-guard throughout the night, giving Hedge the dawn watch, when there was the least risk from the Dead.

Sunrise brought with it the sound and smell of bacon cooking over the last of the fire, which was welcome. It also brought the return of the gore crows, which was not. Conferring with his NCOs over mugs of hot tea, Horyse outlined his plan for the day.

"We'll strike eastwards, along the southern bank of the river. We'll aim for Last Bridge, and camp there tonight. Keep a sharp lookout for anything at all out of the ordinary."

It was a trying day. The southern bank of this stretch of the Southwater was wooded and thick with undergrowth, making the going hard. Private Rowland was on point now, using all his skills as a Westerall woodsman to navigate the dense underbrush. His ability to find easier paths through the undergrowth saved them much toil, but progress was still slow. Several times, Hedge suggested that they go further south, beyond the woods, where the terrain was easier, or even head for the Wallway; but Horyse was reluctant to lose the protection of running water. Plus, the thick woodland offered cover from the prying eyes of the Gore Crows.

It was already late in the day when they emerged from the forest onto the grassy plain to the east. Ahead of them in the distance they could see Barhedrin Hill. Closer at hand was the wide, paved expanse of the Wallway.

"Anshye, Rowland," whispered Horyse, "scout ahead." The two men moved off, swift and silent, swords drawn and faceguards down. For a moment they disappeared into the ditch at the side of the road, then Rowland reappeared and came doubling back.

"All clear, sir," he reported.

"Alright, let's go," whispered Horyse. "Move in pairs, one covers while the other goes. Regroup at the road."

The patrol moved off in pairs. Hedge, for once, seemed to have nothing to say; he had become more and more sullen as the day went on. Dumb insolence, Horyse realised; when they made camp, he would have to take the man aside for a serious talking-to.

When they reached the edge of the road, Horyse turned to Hedge.

"Corporal Hedge, Corporal Razoul, scout as far as the mile marker, check for Patrol Sign."

Reluctantly, Hedge set off, Razoul keeping close to him. In a few minutes, they were back.

"No recent Patrol Sign, sir. Last one is from two weeks ago and reports all clear," reported Hedge.

Horyse nodded; he hoped that Razoul's close scrutiny would have been enough to ensure Hedge made the check properly. He began to suspect that Barhedrin was under some sort of attack, though he could not decide whether the purpose of this was to destroy the guard post, or to force Captain Karim to withdraw patrols, making the Wall and the Crossing Point more vulnerable. More than ever, he was glad that he had insisted on travelling through the woods, and had not succumbed to the temptation to take the easier option of the Wallway. Now, however, speed was needed if they were to reach Last Bridge before sunset. At least, he thought optimistically, there was no Patrol Sign indicating danger.

Once on the Wallway, the patrol moved swiftly and with swords drawn. The sun had barely touched the horizon when they crested a low rise, and saw ahead of them the Southwater, gleaming golden in the last of the setting sun. And there, to Horyse's relief, was the sanctuary of Last Bridge. They were going to make it, he thought. An overnight bivouac on Last Bridge, then they would strike north-east, beyond the normal patrol limits, in the hope of either reaching Barhedrin or meeting an Old Kingdom patrol.

His relief was cut short by a loud cry and a volley of curses. He turned to see Hedge sprawling in the roadway, clutching an ankle.

"What is it, corporal?" Horyse asked, masking his impatience with difficulty.

"Turned an ankle, sir," Hedge answered, grimacing. "These blasted loose stones." The road's surface was paved with stone, rather than the tar-gravel used in Ancelstierre; and for the most part it was well-maintained and smooth. Nevertheless, in some places a stone had cracked or worked loose and could easily trap an unwary ankle. Still, Horyse wondered if this was some ruse to prevent them reaching Last Bridge before sunset.

"Can you walk on it, corporal?"

"Just about, sir."

"Rowland, help him along. Let's get moving again."

The pace was now painfully slow and as the sun sank lower, Horyse realised that something drastic would need to be done.

"Rowland, Anshye, carry him. One on each side," he snapped. "Corporal Razoul, scout ahead to the bridge." That was better, but it was still going to be a very close thing. They stumbled down the slope, Rowland and Anshye half carrying and half dragging Hedge. Razoul had just set foot on Last Bridge when several things happened at once. The sun dipped below the horizon, and at that instant, a flock of Gore Crows appeared seemingly out of nowhere to dive down on the patrol, screaming and raking at their faces with sharp talons. Hedge threw himself clear of Anshye and Rowland, running on legs that were all too obviously sound, to get between Last Bridge and the rest of the patrol. Razoul barely had time to take in what was happening before Hedge, screaming with murderous rage, ran him through with the point of his cutlass.

Horyse began to charge at the renegade corporal, his own cutlass raised to strike. He sensed Anshye at his left shoulder and Rowland at his right, the rest of the patrol behind. Hedge turned to face them on the threshold of the bridge, and as he did so he ripped away the blanket roll that was wrapped around him diagonally from shoulder to waist, revealing what looked like a leather bandolier with sticks of dark wood hanging down from it. Before Horyse could react, other figures emerged from the shadowy woods to the east of the bridge. A robed figure with a bronze mask and a bandolier similar to that worn by Hedge, surrounded by dead hands. A metallic taste filled Horyse's mouth and a wave of intense nausea forced him to his knees, retching. Hedge drew what appeared to be a bell and rang it in a commanding chime. The other soldiers halted, transfixed. Horyse felt fixed to the spot, as though his limbs were made of lead; he tried to fight but the nausea was too strong. Then the cloaked figure, white smoke pouring from the mouth and eye holes of its mask, drew and rang a different bell.

Now, far from being rooted to the spot, Horyse felt the urge to walk, to dance, to run, to go joyfully wherever the masked figure commanded. But something deep inside his mind was telling him that wherever the masked figure was sending him, he did not wish to go. He fought with all his being against the bell's command, but still his feet began to move of their own accord.

Then, with a roar, Anshye broke free of whatever was holding him and charged at Hedge, plunging a cutlass deep into the other man's chest. It should have been a mortal wound but Hedge merely staggered. Nevertheless, as he staggered, the bell's chime faltered and the other men began charging, some towards Hedge and some towards the masked figure. The masked figure turned, and Horyse felt his legs relax as its attention and power were momentarily focussed on the charging soldiers. It rang the bell in a complex figure of eight pattern and the soldiers turned to run the other way, floundering and stumbling as they fought against the bell's command. Then the masked figure turned the bell once again on Horyse, and he felt the last of his resistance give way.

Horyse was within reach of the masked figure's sword when a trumpet call cut across the sound of the bell. Boots clattered on the stones of Last Bridge, as a band of Old Kingdom soldiers in the red and gold of the guard charged across. Hedge gave a scream and fled, pursued by the unmistakable figure of Captain Karim as the other soldiers attacked the dead hands. The masked figure drew its largest bell and lunged at Horyse, plunging the point of its sword into his shoulder. Before it could ring the bell though, another chime sounded. A man in a blue surcoat stood on the threshold of Last Bridge, ringing a bell that had an authoritative and commanding tone.

"Chlorr of the mask!" he called in an equally commanding voice. The masked figure's arms fell to its sides. The bell gave the merest hint of a chime, but that was enough that Horyse felt as though his life force was draining away. He was dimly aware that Anshye had lifted him and was holding him propped against one knee, trying to staunch the blood from his wound.

"Stay with me, sir, come on, you've got to stay with me!" Another bell sounded, and Horyse saw the masked figure vanish in a cloud of billowing white smoke. The blue-clad man was now motionless, sheathed in frost and ice, but the lingering chime of his bell, along with Anshye's desperate pleas, seemed to be urging Horyse to cling to life even as darkness overcame him.


	12. Chapter 12: The River of Death

12\. The River of Death

The next few days were a blur to Horyse. Awake, he was feverish and only vaguely aware of being in a clean, white, antiseptic room, presumably in the infirmary at Perimeter HQ. Often, Major Grinstead the senior medical officer, would be there with Captain Carstairs the head nurse, talking in low, worried voices. The pain in his shoulder was a constant throb, and they couldn't seem to stop the bleeding or lower his fever, either by Ancelstierran medicine or Charter magic. Once, he was loaded into an ambulance; as it moved further away from the Perimeter, the pain in his wound increased and the flow of blood increased from a trickle to a gush. He couldn't stop himself screaming, and as he fell back into unconsciousness he heard Major Grinstead bellowing urgently at the driver to stop and turn around.

Asleep, he was plagued by a repeating nightmare, always the same. He was standing ankle-deep at the edge of a river, whose water was so cold that it chilled his entire body. The river seemed to be shallow and sluggish, but the current was tricksome and the cold sapped his energy and willpower, so that he longed to lie down in the water and let the current take him where it would. The third or fourth time this happened, he became aware of a dim figure on the bank that reached out and grasped his hand, holding him against the current. From then on, there was always someone on the bank, holding him and preventing him from giving in to the river. Sometimes it seemed to be Major Grinstead or Captain Carstairs; occasionally it was Tindall, or Curran, or others of the Scouts that he did not recognise. Soon, it took two, then three, then four people on the bank to hold him against the river's insistent pull.

Then, one night, Horyse realised that the riverbank was crowded with people all trying to hold on to him; and that he was slipping from their grasp. His own strength was spent, and he knew that if those holding him from the bank let go, he would fall into the river and be carried onwards by the current. Just as Horyse felt the grip on his hand begin to loosen, he saw another figure appear on the bank. He, or she – it was hard to tell – drew a sword that blazed with mysterious, glowing marks, and touched his forehead with it. His vision was filled with blazing light; the current loosed its grip, and he plunged forward, to be hauled onto the bank by many willing hands.

The next time he came to, he was immediately aware that things were different. The pain in his shoulder was still there but much lessened, and there was no blood seeping through the bandages. The fever had gone and he felt alert and fully aware of his surroundings for the first time since Last Bridge, though very tired.

"Well now, that's better." Captain Carstairs breezed into the room, and bustled about with thermometer and blood pressure monitor. "We'll get you something to eat, and then Major Grinstead will be in to see you."

A cheerful orderly brought him a tray of stewed fruit and a mug of tea, and Horyse was suddenly aware that he was very hungry. After he had finished, Major Grinstead came in and examined his shoulder.

"That's doing very well now. Captain Carstairs and I will change the dressing and renew the Charter spell this afternoon."

"What happened to me?" Horyse demanded. Grinstead shook his head. "I'll leave that to Captain Tindall to explain. He'll be in to see you later, after you have slept again."

"Please, I don't want to sleep," Horyse protested. In truth, he felt exhausted, but he dreaded returning to that chill river. Major Grinstead obviously sense both his reluctance, and the reason for it, because he placed a reassuring hand on Horyse's uninjured shoulder and spoke kindly.

"You've been unconscious or fevered for a long time, and what you need now is true, healing sleep. I know about the nightmares, and I can assure you they will not return; but just to be certain, I am going to place Charter marks for sleep, rest, peace and healing." Before Horyse could protest further, Major Grinstead placed a hand on his forehead, and he felt the glowing marks flow into him as he slipped, irresistibly into sleep.

He awoke from a pleasant dream in which he and Jayelle had been walking together in the woods near Wyverly College, on a beautiful summer's day. The exhaustion he felt earlier had receeded, and he realised that sleep was no longer something to be feared. There was a knock on the door, and this time it was Anshye who entered.

"Good to see you awake, sir," he said. "Me and the lads have been ever so worried, begging your pardon." Horyse was touched by this, and mumbled his thanks. "Let me help you to the you-know-what, sir, then I'll see about some grub." Horyse was suddenly aware of a need to relieve himself. He had a few vague and highly embarrassing memories of bedpans and female nurses, and was glad that he was obviously considered well enough to walk to the latrine.

Anshye's idea of grub turned out to be trout that was obviously fresh caught, with lemon, fried potatoes and canned peas.

"That Captain Carstairs thought you should still be on that slop they call light diet, but I talked her round, sir," he explained. "Ted Rowland caught that trout special when we heard you was awake, wouldn't want it to go to waste."

The trout was delicious, light enough to be easily digested but much more satisfying than 'slop'. After he had eaten, Major Grinstead examined the wound again and pronounced that once he had slept again, he would be able to get up.

"You are still on sick-leave though, until further notice," the MO warned him, sternly. Then he left, and was replaced by Captain Tindall.

"You're looking better, Sam," he said.

"You too, sir," Horyse replied, remembering how ill the fog had made his friend.

"I've told you, Frank will do unless it's in front of the men."

"What happened at Last Bridge?" Horyse asked the question that had preyed on his mind ever since he had regained consciousness. Tindall paused before replying, gathering his thoughts.

"Hedge turned against you, I expect you remember that much. It seems that he has been in league with a powerful Necromancer, ever since he went missing, possibly even before."

"The masked figure I saw?"

"Yes. I don't understand it fully, but Old Kingdom Necromancers use a set of ensorcelled bells to command and compel the Dead, and the living as well. After he murdered poor Razoul, Hedge and his companion used the bells to force the others first to stop, then to turn and run away. Then the masked Necromancer used a bell to compel you to come to her. She was foiled by the arrival of Karim and her soldiers, so attempted to use another bell.

"The first we knew of trouble was when Rowland arrived, riding one of the Barhedrin horses. He told us that Razoul was dead, and you were severely wounded. Two others of the patrol were killed I'm afraid, Lowens and Smith '87. Griggs and Zaleck were wounded, not as badly as you, but the patrol were not going to be able to bring you in on their own."

"I'm sorry about Lowens and Smith," Horyse said. "They were good men." Tindall nodded.

"Karim and her Charter mages performed the burial rite, so that they will rest in peace with no danger of being brought back as Hands." Tindall paused again.

"A few hours, maybe less, before Rowland arrived, the fog suddenly lifted. I am guessing at the exact moment that Karim drove off Hedge and his associate. We all made a miraculous recovery, as if we had never been ill at all, so it obviously was some sort of spell cast by either Hedge or, more likely, the masked Necromancer. We got together all the Scouts who were fit to travel, and I led them out myself. Had a battle with Grinstead about that, I can tell you.

"We met Karim and her forces about half way, they had loaded you and the other wounded onto a cart and they came with us all the way to the Crossing Point. Then we put you on a stretcher and brought you through to the infirmary.

"At first, your wound didn't seem that severe, but it simply would not stop bleeding. And you were in a high fever, though Grinstead and the other medics could see no infection or anything else that would explain it. They tried everything they could, including Charter magic, but nothing worked. We tried to evacuate you to Bain and the big hospital there, but the further away we got from the Wall, the worse your pain and bleeding got so we had to bring you back. The only thing that seemed to help was if a Charter mage sat with you and held your hand. But soon it took two, then three, then more Charter mages to keep you alive. So we sent a message to Barhedrin, to ask the advice of their healers."

Horyse told Tindall of his dreams and of the chill river.

"Interesting," Tindall mused. "Anyway, Karim came herself, which we did not expect, arriving on a night when it took almost all the available Scouts to keep you from slipping away. She told us that the only thing that would save you was baptism into the Charter. Normally we only allow that after a man has been through selection for the Scouts, has undergone extensive testing and filled in all sorts of paperwork. We would never do it without a man's full knowledge and consent. But you were unconscious and there was no time to dither. So Major Collins as acting CO gave Karim the go-ahead. She gave you the baptismal Charter mark on your forehead, and immediately your fever broke and the wound stopped bleeding."

"So that's what happened!" exclaimed Horyse, and recounted the figure on the bank who had touched his forehead with a glowing sword and pulled him from the river.

"Yes. You now have a Charter mark, like I do, and the Scouts, and other Charter mages here. And a lifelong connection to the Charter." Horyse touched his forehead and felt a scar there, and felt himself surrounded by glowing marks. "Here, test my Mark, and I'll do the same. Go on, touch it with the first two fingers of your right hand."

Horyse did so, and at the same time, Tindall touched his forehead with two outstretched fingers. Instantly, he felt himself caught up in a never-ending flow of warmly glowing, gently moving symbols. Then they both dropped their outstretched fingers, and were back in the clean, antiseptic room in the infirmary.

"Describe what you saw," Tindall demanded, and Horyse did so. Tindall nodded in satisfaction.

"That is the sign of an unsullied Charter mark," he explained. "Had either of our marks been corrupted by Necromancy or Free Magic, you would have seen a perversion of the symbols. You would have felt extreme nausea and possibly a metallic taste in the mouth."

"Like the broken Charter stone in the village," exclaimed Horyse.

"Quite so." Tindall paused and looked uncomfortable. "Sam, I owe you an apology."

"Whatever for?" demanded Horyse.

"That day in Major Collins' office, I should have tested Hedge's Charter mark. Had I done so, I would almost certainly have discovered that it had been corrupted. I know I was ill but that was no excuse. I put your life in danger, and probably got Razoul and those others killed."

"That's ridiculous," countered Horyse. "If you had tested the mark, Hedge would have known he was discovered. You were the only Charter mage in the room and in no fit state to deal with a Necromancer. Think what might have happened if he'd run amok among the garrison. Especially as he seems immune to ordinary weapons," he added, remembering how what should have been a mortal sword-thrust from Anshye had had no effect at all on Hedge.

"That's true," admitted Tindall. "Thanks for that, old chap. Now, we must decide what to do about you."

"Me?"

"Yes. It's clear that you have considerable power, more than even Curran or myself. That power is now connected to the Charter, but until you learn to use it, you are vulnerable. A Necromancer, or Mordicant, or one of the Greater Dead could easily entrap you to use that power, which is what we believe Hedge and his companion were trying to do."

"Can you or Curran teach me what I need to learn?" asked Horyse.

"No," admitted Tindall. "At least, not fast enough. It would take us months, and as long as you remain here, untrained, you are a danger to all of us."

"Then you are sending me away?" demanded Horyse. "Back down south?" For a moment, he considered the possibility. Maybe enough time had passed that Colonel Quartermain could find him a posting back to the Frontier. Even as he thought this, he realised that this was no longer what he wanted. He wanted to remain at the Perimeter, in fact, his longing was so strong it was almost a physical pain. He was relieved to see Tindall shaking his head, very firmly.

"Charter, no! That's the last thing we want to do. For one thing, your wound isn't fully healed and we can't be sure that sending you south won't re-open it again when the Charter spell wears off. For another, we need you here – once you are trained."

"Then where?" Horyse's question trailed off as Tindall grinned at him.

"We are sending you in the other direction, to Barhedrin. Captain Karim and the other Charter mages there will be able to teach you all you need to learn. Officially you will be on a temporary secondment as a liaison officer with the Old Kingdom, in response to recent events."

Horyse could not contain his excitement. To go further into the Old Kingdom, and learn more of its mysteries. That would be something to tell Jayelle next time he saw her. "When do I leave?" he asked.

"As soon as possible," Tindall answered. "Normally, the MO would keep you here at least a week, and then several more weeks of light duties. But he's agreed that in two days you should be fit enough to travel on horseback, provided your escort includes a Charter mage strong enough to renew the healing marks if necessary. That will be Curran."

So it was that two days later, Horyse crossed the Wall with a small mounted escort. This time, he could see clearly the endless flow of golden Charter marks moving across the stones of the tunnel. When they emerged into the Old Kingdom, a returning patrol met them and reported the Wallway clear as far as Last Bridge.

"Alright then, sir, if you are ready, let's move off," said Curran.

"Very good, Sergeant," agreed Horyse. "We make for Last Bridge!"


End file.
